


Young Gods

by Xazz



Series: Flocking Movement [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Abstergo, Bird, F/M, Fighting, Freedom, Gen, M/M, Modern, Motorcycles, Road Trip, Survival Training, Templars, Training, eagle - Freeform, immortal ancestors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-14
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 119,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xazz/pseuds/Xazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond's on the run, again, but its all different and turned on its head. People he thought were his friends are now the ones he can't trust, and his enemies and captors grow by the day. But you can only chase something for so long before it turns around and bites you back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> Please realize that this was started last year, the writing curve is pretty steep in terms of getting better and also that's why I don't take ACR or AC3 into any sort of consideration.

Desmond was glad to finally get out of the Animus. His entire body was sore from _relaxing_ all day. His muscles screamed for activity as he pointedly ignored both Shaun and Lucy as they reminded him to be back before morning and not to get killed in some horrible and stupid way (that had just been Shaun actually, in as sarcastic a tone as he could manage).

His entire body itched to climb as he left the safe house and went to find someplace where there were plenty of hand and foot holds, thankful that his earpiece was silent. He finally managed to find an old four story building and while it was no where near as tall as the one he’d climbed not an hour ago in Ezio’s body, it would do and effortlessly he scaled the wall his muscles and joints and bones sighing in total relief as they finally got to put into motion.

Panting slightly (he may have the skills but he had no where near the wind) he sat on the edge of the building for a few minutes looking out into the clear Italian night sky. He didn’t feel tired at all, though he knew he probably should after spending so much time between waking and dreaming, an experience that usually left him exhausted. But after a climb all he could feel was adrenaline pounding through his entire body and it begged him to go do some more.

Desmond stood on the ledge and looked across the alley he’d gone down before his climb. It was an easy jump and he took a short running start into it before launching off the top of the building and flew across the gap. His heart flew into his throat in excitement and a little terror as he feared he’d have missed the gap, but soon the top of the next building was coming to greet him and he quickly rolled into it, hitting the back of his shoulder and popping to his feet before he was running again. The burn in his lungs as he ran and jumped and vaulted across the urban playground felt good and he wished it could last forever.

Eventually though he became to tired and practically collapsed onto a ledge overlooking the edge of the city and he could see the Tuscany landscape in the distance.

“Yo,” Desmond jumped at a voice and he almost unsheathed his hidden blade before reminding himself that not everyone was out to kill him; just most of them. Someone sat down next to him, they wore a red hoodie with white graphic designs on it. “Saw you running,” he said tilting his head towards Desmond who couldn’t make out his face because it was half obscured by his hood.

“Where’d you come from?” Desmond asked, surprising even himself in how well he spoke Italian; damn bleeding effect, as he looked around. There was no roof entrance.

“Same as you; I climbed,” the man chuckled, “How else do you get around?” he smirked at Desmond only showing the lower left half of his face, the rest was cast in shadow from his hood and from the light coming behind him.

“So you’re a free runner?” Desmond asked carefully, better not let this guy know to much.

He laughed, “Yeah, something like that,” and Desmond suddenly found his voice familiar but for the life of him couldn’t think why. “What’re you doing up here on such a fine night if I may ask?”

“Just… getting away,” Desmond sighed.

“Life sucks huh?”

“Heh, you could say that again,” he said sarcastically.

“Life sucks huh?”

Desmond couldn’t help himself as laughter bubbled up out of his lips, the man quirked a smile. “I asked for that one didn’t I?”

“Oh yeah,” he agreed and nodded.

“And what about you?” Desmond asked.

“Me? I’m going to get somewhere,” he said.

“Well isn’t that mysterious of you.”

“Hey, I’m a mysterious, charming, Italian; it’s what we do,” he said and Desmond laughed again despite himself. He liked this guy, despite not knowing him. Something about him just made him likable, trustable, and familiar.

Desmond obviously lost track of time because it seemed all to soon when suddenly his ear piece chimed in: “Desmond where are you?” from Lucy doing her best not to sound worried and failing miserably.

Desmond sighed, “I gatta go,” he told his new friend. Friend; there was a word he never thought he’d use again. He didn’t exactly think of the others as his friends, they were only a bit better then strangers to him still.

“As do I. New day’s dawning, time to get moving,” with a groan the hooded man rose.

“Hey, I never got your name,” Desmond said realizing with a jolt it was true.

That caused the man to laugh and he stood with his back to Tuscany and Desmond could finally see the whole of his lower face caught in the light of the city. “You already know it,” he said lips quirked into a smirk and Desmond’s eyes widened when he saw a scar on the left side of his lips. “Just remember; nothing is true, everything is permitted. We’re counting on you Desmond,” and he pulled back his hood nearly making Desmond feint in shock before he fell backwards off the top of the ten story building.

Desmond was to shocked to looked down at first, but when he did he saw a pile of what was very obviously recycled paper.

Desmond returned to the safe house in a daze, not even trading verbal strikes with Shaun when he made a comment about Desmond being late for curfew or when Lucy asked is everything was all right. He didn’t answer anything and just stared at the Animus for several minutes before Shaun’s bitching finally worked into his brain and he got in.

Could that have been possible? Had that really been Ezio? What was he doing here? How was he still alive? To many questions, not enough answers. He closed his eyes as Rebecca put him to sleep with one thought that stopped all the questions; nothing is true.

—

Ezio didn’t move when another man came to stand next to him. They were standing on the building next to the hide out. “So?” he asked boredly his Italian laced with Arabic.

“He’ll be just fine,” Ezio smirked at the much older man who didn’t even turn to look at him. “C’mon old man; we got places to go,” and he grabbed the back of his white hood.

“Five hundred years and still you’re a disrespectful little prat,” the other man growled shoving past him. Ezio just chuckled and followed after the Grand Master.


	2. Birds of a Feather

The man in front of Desmond seemed nice enough with a warm smile and a kind face. But he just hadn’t spent over a month living through memories and being suspicious of damn near everyone to just take the man on face value. So he didn’t offer a smile in return.

“We’ve very excited to meet you Desmond,” he said and Desmond stared at the hand he offered but didn’t take it. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” he nodded and pulled his hand back seeming to be only a bit deterred by the fact that Desmond was remaining silent.

“Desmond, don’t be disrespectful,” Shaun said behind him.

“Right,” he said, “Who are you?”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry, I forgot myself,” the man still seemed easy going enough. “My name is William,” he said and Desmond blinked at him. He knew of William from reading the emails back at the Sanctuary, seemed like a nice enough guy, probably did something similar to Shaun; made sure everyone didn’t die.

Desmond didn’t know what made him do it. Maybe it was because he’d since learned to accept no one to be as they seemed after reliving the lives of Altair and Ezio. Or maybe it was his own instinct. Either way Desmond shifted the focus of his eyes, refocused and the world washed out into blacks and grays save for William right in front of him and a few others who were at a few desks; all of them washed in a blue light. Or at least they were for another few moments anyways.

“The Mentor has asked that I take the Apple,” William said and Desmond resisted the urge to reach into his backpack and touch it; reassure himself it was still there, but he refrained.

“You heard him Desmond,” Shaun supplied when Desmond didn’t respond.

“If it’s all the same to you I’ll just give it to him myself,” Desmond said.

“He isn’t here right now,” William said.

“He’s not? Man what a rip off,” Rebecca claimed.

William just chuckled, “I’m sorry to disappoint,” he apologized. “So Desmond, it you would; the Apple,” he held out his hand again.

“Why should I give it to you?” he asked still watching William in Eagle Vision.

“For safe keeping till the Mentor gets here. Wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands,” William supplied. That was the trick. Desmond had heard a lot of bull shit (two lives worth of it actually), and so he almost wasn’t surprised as after William said that William’s color faded from blue to red. As did the rest of the Assassins behind him. He almost cursed out loud.

“Sorry,” Desmond said and took a step away from William, “I’ll be keeping it. Far away from you actually,” he took another step back, ran into Shaun who grabbed at the sleeve of his hoodie but he shoved the Brit away and was running. He didn’t even know where, just far away from there and this whole mess.

He’d been stupid to think it could really have been _that_ easy. He should have known better then anyone what the lure of the Apple could do to most men. He’d witnessed first hand what it had done Al Mualim and how his own need to possess it had warped his mind. Why had he been so stupid as to think such a thing couldn’t happen again?

He could hear at least three people running after him, but he didn’t stop to look when he came to the stairs that led down to the foyer. Jumping up onto the banister he let his sneakers slip down the slick marble surface before leaping off and sprinting out the door, and down another set of stairs out of the mansion. A long driveway later his feet hit the pavement and he was running through the city.

Desmond had found he hated modern cities. They were to clean, to slick, and no where to hide _anywhere_. At least not from assassins, since they knew all the hiding places. He cursed when he had to stop for traffic and looked back and saw almost a dozen men and women in white scanning the crowd for him. He cursed as one of them spotted him and the swarm of red got closer. 

He couldn’t wait for the light.

Several cars making their way down the street suddenly got a very unpleasent surprise as a brown haired man threw himself across their hoods or shot out in front of them making them slam on their breaks. One wasn’t quick enough on the brakes and hit two men chasing the first sending them sprawling.

Desmond didn’t see any of this as he shoved his way through the crowd on the street to put more distance between himself and his former allies. He managed to put about half a block between them before he realized he was being and idiot and stopped long enough to pull the Apple out of his backpack. It glowed in his hand, not brightly, but enough to cast a light. He needed to vanish; now. The metal in his palm throbbed and he knew was invisible. His theory was proved true when the assassins ran past him as he pressed himself against a wall and let out a sigh of relief.

But now he was using the Apple. Great. As if he didn’t have enough mental issues already with the bleeding effect. Checking down the street he saw that his pursuers had run more then a block past his location and were splitting up.

For now though he was safe, that was what was important. And the Apple was safe too. He put the Apple away his invisibility fading as he did, he got a few funny looks as he suddenly appeared but he was already walking quickly down the street and away from them. 

He kept up his Eagle Vision, so he could see the assassins if they tried to sneak up on him. Not even Shaun and Rebecca knew he could do this, it didn’t transfer in the Animus apparently so it just always seemed like he knew by instinct who and where was what.

Ten minutes of glancing over his shoulder later he stopped dead when a light flickered at the corner of his eye. At first he was ready to bolt but then he realized it wasn’t red; it was blue. He squinted at it as it to see it was real. He’d seen Rebecca and Shaun briefly on his flight from the headquarters, they’d been red too. Who was this? Desmond waited for the light to change and crossed the street, flexing his hand as he did and the hidden blade sliding down to kiss his fingers.

“There you are,” the man spoke English, but not any accent he recognized, like they were all the accents of all languages all mixed together. He wore a white hoodie like Desmond did, only not as bulky, and the hood was pulled up as he relaxed casually against the building as Desmond walked up to him.

“Who are you?” Desmond demanded before he got an answer they both heard a ‘there he is!’ and Desmond looked back and cursed as several red marks spotted them across the street, diagonally from them.

“Later, lets go,” the man grabbed the back of Desmond’s collar and pulled the hood up. Not knowing what else to do, he followed and the man went from jogging to a sprint in three seconds shoving people out of the way as he went. Desmond started for a second before he gave chase after the man dropping Eagle Vision to better see the people around him as he crashed after the man.

The man led him through a gate to the front of what had once obviously been a church, it now appeared a school but Desmond couldn’t be sure since the sign wasn’t in English.

“Why are we stopping?” Desmond panted, the man just looked at his watch but said nothing. A minute or so later the assassins ran past, one of them spotted them and called his partner back. As he did above the bell of the old church rang.

“Meet me at Norich and 44th,” said the man as the doors behind them opened and out poured a school full of high school students. Desmond couldn’t believe his dumb luck, they all wore long white sleeved shirts and dark pants (the girls skirts) and a tie. A few of them wore jackets with hoods on them as well and when Desmond looked over at the man; he was gone! 

From the front of the courtyard the assassins yelled angrily, the students just gave them funny looks as they streamed out of school, Desmond with them, tagging along at the edge of a group of boys who were headed away from the direction the assassins took at random. He stayed with them for a few blocks before one of them asked where the new kid had come from and Desmond left quickly to avoid suspicion. Once he’d lost the kids and the assassins he went into the nearest convenience store and grabbed a map. He didn’t pay for it, just opened it and looked at it. He found where he was and he found where Norich was.

It was on the other side of the city.

That left two options, he could take a taxi, or the subway. Seeing as how he had no money he decided on the subway and found the nearest tunnel entrance. He waited till no one was looking before jumping the gate and went to find the line he wanted. The train ride was uneventful to the Norich station and he got off no hitches and made it up street side looking around for his mysterious blue friend.

“Are you going to tell me who you are now?” Desmond demanded when he came up to him, he was sitting on a bench, head down, hood up looking more like a homeless person then someone an assassin would consider an alley.

“ _You going to keep asking stupid questions, novice_ ,” the man asked in Arabic. _Very_ _familiar_ Arabic and looked up at him. He had a scar on the right side of his lips and when Desmond looked down at the man’s hands he saw his left ring finger was gone.

“Fuck,” was Desmond’s only reply.

“Sit,” Altair ordered and Desmond sat, he _knew better_ then to disobey Altair. “Do you have the Apple?” he asked easily and leaned back on the bench head up, eyes scanning.

“Yeah,” he said lowly, it was currently digging into his back.

“Guess you found out the Brotherhood isn’t as safe as you thought huh?”

“No,”he shook his head slowly. “How are you still alive?” he asked staring at the man who he’d only known through genetic memory and still coming to grips with this fact since first he’d seen Ezio in Monteriggioni and now this. One of the greatest assassins to ever live; and Desmond was sitting next to him and was about as about as conversationist as a fish.

“The Apple,” was all Altair said.

“And Ezio?”

“Unfortunately; the same,” Altair snorted. “It isn’t safe here Desmond,” he said after a silence actually startling Desmond. “You need to get you and the Apple out of here.”

“And go where? I already had the Templars looking for me, and now the Order. Where can I go they wouldn’t find me?” he growled.

“Here,” Altair said as an explanation and a subject change all at once as he held out a slip of paper. Desmond grabbed it and saw it was a train ticket.

“You expect me to-” he cursed when he looked up after reading it; since Altair was gone.

—

Desmond stood on the platform as the train he was waiting for came to a stop and people de-boarded. Once they’d cleared it for new passengers Desmond got on immediately and found an empty compartment but quickly realized he’d have to amuse himself for a bit till his passage was underway. There wasn’t much to do though so he took to fiddling with the inner guts of his hidden blade and cleaning the exterior of its mechanics. He’d have to do a better cleaning later.

A man came by as the train was about to depart and stamped his ticket before leaving him as the train began the laborious task of pull itself from a dead stop. Desmond leaned against the fold down table and stared out at the receding platform as the compartment door opened. His hand made a reactionary fist and the hidden blade popped out of its put away position.

“Peace _bambino_ ,” said a familiar voice as Desmond quickly looked away from the window as the door slid closed.

“ _Non sono un bambino_ , _”_ said without thinking as he glared at the man dressed in the red and white striped shirt. He noticed after a moment that there weren’t just two of them there (he was expecting two at least), but there was a third, standing just behind Ezio and Altair.

Ezio laughed at him and without being invited sat next to him, Altair and the strange man sat opposite. “You’re accent is terrible,” Ezio informed him, Desmond preferred to ignore him.

“Who’s he?” Desmond looked at the third man.

“A friend, you haven’t met him though,” Ezio said. Desmond looked at the man and understood, like the rest of them he had a scar on the right side of his lips.

“Where’s the Apple?” Altair asked. Desmond pulled it out and rolled it between his hands on the table.

“Heh, we match,” the stranger said and put a hand into a satchel Desmond hadn’t noticed before and pulled out another Apple, putting it on the table with Desmond’s. The two Apples started to thrum and glow, they sang together for a brief time before falling silent as the men who were watching them.

“So, this is it?” Desmond asked looking at Ezio and Altair.

“Yeah,” Altair said, “Think you can handle it kid?”

Desmond stared across to Altair and put out his left hand, the muscles along the underside of the arm tensed and the hidden blade shot out, “I was born to handle it,” he said seriously, face set.


	3. Flight Pattern

Desmond sleuthed through the various cars and trucks as he rocketed down 95 in first gear, the thrumming of his motorcycle was loud in his ears even under the padding of his full helm. Even in the middle of the night the interstate had cars dotting it, moving in packs across the long strait stretches of road. As he passed the latest pack he turned back, the bright headlights of the cars behind him caused a harsh glaring glint to strike off the shiny black plastic of his visor, but he didn’t even squint. He wasn’t even looking in normal light either and stared back easily in the washed out and muted tones of Eagle Vision to where he couldn’t see the cars really.

He could see the mass of red coming up behind him though, shimmering in his second vision. They were still chasing him, good, that was exactly what he wanted.

He turned back around and shifted up into second gear, the bike barely noticed as suddenly the speed jumped from seventy to almost one hundred in only a few seconds as he pulled down hard on the throttle. More cars were coming up in front of them and without fear he leaned into the glides as he slipped between cars and trucks, sometimes with only a few inches between him and the other automobile and probably scared the living shit out the drivers. Desmond slowed when he reached the front of this pack and saw the red was closer now. Fine.

Desmond was bait, he knew he was bait. After all you didn’t walk into a Templar stronghold, declare yourself and then run like hell if you _weren’t_ bait. To bad everyone there was either to smart for their own good, or to stupid. It was why he didn’t mind the mass of glowing red cars screaming after him on the interstate.

He turned back front as ghostly horses raced along either side of him, both carrying riders who’s forms he couldn’t determine past them being human. As he watched out the horses running next to him change from Arabians to Aveligneses. He didn’t know _how_ he knew that since to him all horses looked the same, he just knew they had. He’d since stopped bothering to question how and why he knew things though, it made things so much easier if he just accepting what he saw and knew for what they were.

Shifting up in gear to third he shot ahead of the ghost horses leaving the sounds of their whinnies to echo in his head like a half forgotten dream. He shook his head slightly and ignored their sounds as he came upon another of the small packs of cars effortlessly weaving through them and finding himself alone in front of them, he couldn’t see a tail light for miles. Time to take an exit.

He let off on the throttle enough to take the gentle curve off the main highway and merged in with I 78, as he did a sign flashed past “You are now leaving New Jersey,” hardly a mile later there was another sign, “Welcome to New York!” and Desmond smirked under his visor looking off to his right and could see the bright towers of New York City in the foreground and was growing closer by the second. He looked back and the red had followed him onto his new track and he laughed to himself. They were about to find why it sucked to chase him in a big city.

Desmond reached his left hand into the pocket of his jacket where his fingers closed around the Apple, it pulsed in his hand and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again as three copies of himself rode on either side of him as they entered the city-that-never-sleeps. There were always problems when using a Piece of Eden, imperfections that were glaring to the untrained eye but barely noticeable to most people. He’d seen people make clones of themselves, he’d even lived through Ezio making clones of himself. There were always imperfections that he didn’t notice while there, but noticed later. Clothing wrong, body shapes slightly misaligned. Invisibility left traces of outlines, manipulations of vision and reality were limited and off, unable to reach full potential.

Or at least they were for others.

He didn’t dwell on the fact that the Apple worked for him more spectacularly then any of it’s other masters. He didn’t want to think about it really, it just drove home everything he’d seen through Ezio’s memories even harder about the Ones Who Came Before and his part to play in the whole thing. A part he didn’t want that had been thrust upon him like a bad hangover.

The light polluted night sky of New York vanished as Desmond and his little clones slid down into the Holland Tunnel moving between cars that laid down on the horns as they passed. Desmond smirked, damn New York drivers. He looked back once, Abstergo goons were still after him, their white cars like ghosts under the baleful yellow tunnel lights. But they weren’t getting any closer, they obviously didn’t know which of the bikers they were chasing was the real one and which one was just an Apple made copy.

Several minutes later the buildings overhead returned, down 78 they went till they reached St. John’s Park and at each exit a Desmond broke off from him to draw Abstergo off his tail, Desmond himself headed towards Brooklyn. Of course they couldn’t just afford to let one of him go off on his own so when he looked again all he saw was three cars following him instead of almost a dozen.

The light was green as he turned down Beach, which became Walker which became Canal, the map of the city in his mind’s eye. He didn’t need the Animus to know the memories of what and who he needed anymore, all he needed was in his pocket and it was a better map than any satellite image. The lights were green all the way through, the Apple singing in his pocket and his mind, cool and cunning like a viper. There were some things _they_ were right about. The Apple liked to be used, it wanted to be used, it wanted purpose and substance, but it also liked to use and Desmond knew if he lost his focus it wouldn’t be to hard for him to fall off the edge like Al Mualim, Ceasare and so many others had before him. But he wouldn’t let that happen. 

Red flashes came in from Grand and Desmond smiled mirthlessly, his copies had been found out. They’d be gunning for him again now. He quirked his helmeted head at them as they waited for the light to change as he passed and suddenly they weren’t waiting for the light, but were on his ass. From behind him he knew something was wrong and not questioning his instincts, he’d stopped doing that weeks ago, he leaned hard to the right, his knee practically brushing the road and he heard gun shots. They were shooting at him! The idiots! He wasn’t much good to them dead. Only a few more shots were fired before someone probably told them it was a bad idea if he died. For one Vedic would eat them for breakfast if his favorite Subject 17 got killed, which was reason enough not to shoot at Desmond since he still had moments where he’d wake up _sure_ Vedic had just been standing there a second ago.

More cars joined the chase and were trying to gang up on him when they crossed over Delancy Street. Several cars tried to box him in, which was stupid since he was smaller and faster and as they tried it he just slipped through, pulling his hand from his pocket and making a fist. The hidden blade jumped to attention and as he leaned left to get out of the trap he reached down and felt the blade cut through rubber. The engine roared and he rocketed away as the Abstergo car skidded, flipped and crashed into another of his pursuers. He had to wonder if Abstergo only hired idiots, since only idiots had to think it was a good idea to corner an Assassin, since doing that only helped them kill everyone faster.

He took a sudden hard left onto Prince just as the light flickered yellow and at his speed the cars couldn’t hope to keep up with such a turn unless they wanted to end up crashing into the little clothing boutique on the corner.

Prince was clogged with taxies, but the sidewalks were bare and it took Desmond about three seconds to hop the curb and flashed down the sidewalk and took Elizabeth up to East Houston and he was once again back on Bowery. When he looked south the way he’d come he could see red even in his normal sight, blue too, and they strobed back and forth, the sound of sirens barely audible over the sound of the Ninja’s motor.

Grinning with grim satisfaction Desmond turned forward again and headed north on Bowery, his hand stuffed in his pocket letting him flicker out of sight as he rocketed past green lights to get lost in the city-that-never-sleeps leaving Abstergo and their stupid Templars far behind.


	4. Hawkeye

The purr of the Ninja died as Desmond turned the engine off and tossed the keys up before catching them. The only sound in the tiny hidden garage was that of metal creaking and straining as recently hot pipes hit the cool New York air. Still astride the bike Desmond cast his eyes about the small garage as he took off his full helm, only one other bike was there, another Ninja, black like his except with a small bottle of blue liquid shoved up under the seat with a myriad of snake-like tubes coming off of it. Nitrous; like Ninjas needed an excuse to go faster then they already did. He snorted and popped his right leg up and over the bike, flicked down the kick stand and let it stand on its own before taking his helmet and himself up the short flight of stairs nestled in the back of the dark room. 

There was a strong coffee smell when he opened the door, which didn’t surprise him. “Password!” someone yelled from the back room as Desmond unzipped his jacket and hung it on the rack next to another one that was smaller, pulling the Apple out as he did so and cupped it in his hand as the helmet followed the way of the jacket.

“The others better not be dead,” was Desmond’s only reply to the voice.

“Yeah, like a Templar has been able to get a hit on them in decades,” was the snort of amusement and Desmond followed the voice into the back room. “Weren’t followed were you?” the Boston accent became more pronounced the closer he moved towards it.

“Would there be much of a problem if I was?” he leaned against the door way, Apple still in hand and looked out over an array of light winking machines, color coordinated wires, all in the foreground of the steady humm of computer fans and the sound of typing.

“You know I hate when I have to get blood on them,” came the accent and a head peered out from behind one of the larger screens, though the typing never stopped.

“Heaven forbid,” Desmond said sarcastically.

“Hey, you wanna fight about it?” the guy’s bright brown eyes lit up from over his monitor, only half serious.

“I get beat up enough by Altair thanks,” Desmond sighed and now of course couldn’t ignore the fact that half of his skin was a nice shade of purple, blue or ugly yellow thanks to Altair.

“Seems the Little Bird isn’t as dumb as I thought,” he smirked and looked away. Desmond watched for a few seconds, listening to him mutter to himself before he walked into the room.

The man behind the computers was familiar the moment Desmond saw him, he didn’t know how or why at the time, only that he was. Now of course Desmond knew him. The man, who’s name Desmond couldn’t remember, not that it mattered since the others and himself just called him Hawk, sat hunched over a monitor text scrolling by so fast Desmond didn’t even try to read it. He had shoulder length hair that constantly looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and sharp brown eyes set into a slightly ruddy skinned face. Desmond had managed to work the story of Hawk out of him over the past few weeks, and it was nowhere near as exciting as Altair’s and Ezio’s. 

He’d been born during the Revolutionary War in Boston, he couldn’t remember the exact date. His mother, a woman of Native American decent had been a member of the Order, and he’d never known his father since he’d died of gangrene during the Siege of Boston. After his death he’d been raised by his mother within the Order to be an assassin and purely by dumb luck and chance he’d stumbled upon the Apple in Philadelphia after killing an entire room of Templar recruits in the guise of Free Masons. After that the story fizzled and became hard to pick out since the Apple had had plans of its own and Hawk had been a toy for it until Altair and Ezio had found him and fixed him, leaving him like them, but ultimately with his mind intact.

Well probably more then intact if the machines around him were any indication. Desmond had only seen half of this stuff in sci-fi movies, or when he’d taken to listening to Rebecca’s mad ramblings when he literally had nothing better to do, which had been a lot of the time. “When are the others getting back?” Desmond asked leaning against the desk, putting the Apple down next to his hand.

“Once the Templars have figured out it’s probably not the best idea to send their men after those two. From what I heard earlier the Little Eagle almost fell on his ass from slipping-

“Slipping?” Desmond looked at Hawk making sure he hadn’t misheard.

“Well all that blood has to go somewhere,” Hawk turned and looked at him, he did look a bit hawkish with those large unblinking brown-yellow eyes of his. He opened his mouth to say something else but looked away quickly and stared at his computer, it looked the same to Desmond but he knew better then to say that so Hawk didn’t put him on his ass for being a moron. “They got it,” he breathed a slow smile creeping across his features.

“They got the Apple?” Desmond tried to see whatever it was Hawk was seeing on his flickering monitor but was having little success.

“Yep!” he cried and quickly began typing commands into the keyboard which showed up as yellow against the gray tone of the monitor. To Desmond it looked like gibberish; he wisely kept his mouth shut. There was a long silence broken only by some typing then Hawk put his hand up to the earpiece he wore before swearing.

“What is it?” Desmond asked as Hawk shut down the machine and ripped open one of his boxes exposing it’s guts which was all wires, metal plates, tubing and something that looked suspiciously familiar at its core. The older man ripped apart the wires, destroying the inner workings of the machine before he pulled out the familiar core. On the desk Desmond’s Apple began to glow before he wrapped his hand around it and it dimmed again.

“Help me with this,” Hawk snapped and pulled a hard drive from another box he’d ripped open and was then destroying with prejudice.

“What the hell is the matter?” Desmond sank to his knees next to the other man and pulled a third box from its little shelf and was copying Hawk’s motions.

“The Big Eagle said he saw some Templars riding ahead of them,” he shot Desmond a look, “They must have been _waiting_ to follow you,” he wasn’t accusing, more like cursing bad luck as he destroyed the forth and last box. They both looked up when they heard a pair of bikes scream down the road outside of the building. “Shit,” he swore and finished destroying the boxes. “You make sure no one who isn’t supposed to be here gets in, I need to finish this,” he shoved Desmond to his feet and he stumbled out of the back room to the front door. He didn’t worry about someone coming in from the garage, from the outside there didn’t even appear to be one.

Desmond pressed his ear to the door and thankfully didn’t hear anything. Then, almost inperseivyable, something above him creaked and he held his breath. “Hawk,” he hissed back at the same and he heard the smashing of plastic.

“What?” Hawk snapped.

“Shut up, they’re on the roof,” Desmond refrained from snapping back. Hawk’s acknowledgement was yet another curse. “Where the hell is Altair and Ezio?” he moved quietly to the back room.

“Giving them something to chase,” Hawk had destroyed everything in the room now and Desmond blinked. He’d never seen that amount of violence come out of the Bostonians hands before. “We need to go,” he added standing and shoving past Desmond but grabbing his wrist along the way. “You’re sure the-

He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass coming from the back and they both turned and saw someone swing in from the roof in through the shattered window and onto the floor. They immediately slipped on some sort of half glowing yellow liquid that must have leaked out from one of Hawk’s machines.

“Go!” suddenly his jacket and helmet were being shoved at him and Hawk was pushing Desmond into the garage. He managed to fumble them both on as Hawk locked the door behind him, shrugging on his own riding jacket and Desmond noticed that his satchel had seemingly materialized on his shoulder. “Oi, catch,” Desmond looked up in time to catch an ear piece, “We’re splitting up,” Hawk said his voice was calm but Desmond could see his fingers shaking as he pulled on the helmet and they both started when something heavy slammed into the door. Hawk cursed. “When it’s safe one of us will contact you,” and the garage door opened. 

Desmond just nodded, followed suit and both bikes roared into life. Tires spun, rubber burned and the tires finally found traction on the smooth cement surface before they kicked off like bucking mustangs. Hawk went left, so Desmond went right. As he did he saw Hawk’s frame flicker from existence so that Desmond could only see him as a blue smear if he looked in his second sight.

Ahead, on the lonely out of the way road, he could see red tail lights from Abstergo and his allies. Desmond pulled down hard on the throttle shifting the bike up to third to quickly gain on them and pushed his hand into his pocket, hand curling around the Apple. He could see the cars once again trying to box in an assassin; dumb idea as one came up behind them.

Time to teach Abstergo a lesson in humility.

 


	5. Losing Feathers

Desmond was sure his very stomach was going to throw itself out of his mouth in revolt as he finally slowed the bike down. It was early morning, to early for even New Yorkers to be awake, but not late enough for graveyard shifts to be let out of work, so there was barely anyone on the road. Which was probably good or Desmond would have smashed into them. He managed to not crash as he pulled up to the curb and fumbled his helmet off, the visor had a giant spiderwebbed crack on it’s left side from where he’d struck his head and it took him several seconds to remember how to work the kickstand before the bike stood on its own.

There were three shops in proximity to him, the rest looked like apartments. A coffee shop, he thought it was a coffee shop, what looked like a second hand clothing store, and judging by the blacked out windows something that was very obviously an adult store. He ignored the latter two, one of which was closed anyways, and went into the coffee shop. It smelled like a coffee shop at least so he wasn’t to far off and there was only one person in the place, and it wasn’t a customer.

“Do you have a bathroom?” Desmond asked the barista hoping he didn’t look to fucked up.

The man looked him up and down and rose and eyebrow at him as if to say ‘you have got to fucking kidding me’. “Bathroom’s for paying customers only,” he drawled.

Desmond let his eyes flick up at the menu, half the menu was in English, the rest was in… Arabic? Weird. “I’ll have a Turkish Coffee,” he said and dug into his pants pocket, pulled out a wallet and left a ten dollar bill on the counter.

“Down the left on your right,” the man didn’t look at Desmond who left the counter, forgetting his helmet there and followed his directions. 

The bathroom was painfully clean and smelled of incense over a very distinct hint of bleach. The smell turned his stomach and he finally let whatever the fuck was in his stomach jump up and out of it as he puked his guts out into the white porcelain throne. He felt like he’d just gotten drunk, even if he hadn’t had any alcohol since he’d been captured by Abstergo. That was what… fuck almost twelve weeks ago, three months. It felt like a lifetime and that lifetime was all ripping up Desmond’s throat like it was somehow all his fault.

Once he was sure he’d ejected everything his stomach might have he leaned away from the porcelain seat and now had to swallow his throat which threatened to stay closed so he struggled to breath for several seconds. Vaguely he thought of how dumb it would be to have made it so far now only to suffocate on his own damn throat. Finally though the airway cleared and he gasped down air, still sitting on the floor, the air now spiced with the smell of his own vomit along with bleach and incense.

Awesome.

Desmond stumbled to his feet and flushed before leaning over the sink. Damnit, he did look as fucked up as he felt. There was a nice dry patch of blood on his left temple from where his face had decided it was a good idea to hit the side of an Abstergo car. After that there wasn’t a lot to remember, he remembered someone yelling at him, both in the world and in his head and he remembered cars crashing and fire and a good bit of screaming, but it was all a blur. Rubbing his face he turned on both taps as high as they would go and proceeded to scrub the dried blood and look of drunkenness off his face. Man it felt like he had a handover. He reminded himself _never_ to use the Apple like that again; **ever.**

Suddenly panic struck him and wet hands fumbled at the pocket of his jacket, unzipping the pocket, in haste cutting some of his fingers on the teeth. He relaxed when he pulled the sphere out, it glowed merrily in his hand, as if mocking him for being so panicked just a moment ago. Blood dripped off his fingers staining it’s golden surface and he tossed it under the open tap and let it wash away as he finished cleaning his face.

Once he didn’t look _so much_ like five day old death Desmond put the Apple back into his pocket and left the bathroom and apparently by the clock above the counter he’d been in there for over ten minutes; damn. His stupid turkish coffee was waiting for him on the counter with a small cup of water. Somehow he knew he was supposed to use them both in tandem but his brain wouldn’t function properly as to just _what_ that was.

“You okay?” he started when unexpectedly the barista spoke to him. They still looked irritated, like he loathed to have to talk to Desmond, but he was anyway.

“Terrific, what was your first clue,” Desmond was in no mood to be overly civil at the moment.

Well if Desmond wasn’t going to be then damnit this… Jacob (his little name tag read) wasn’t going to be either. “Excuse me for wondering why you were bleeding all over my shop and came in here looking like a homeless person,” he said smartly.

“I doubt homeless people have motorcycles,” Desmond replied dryly and took his helmet back from the counter. The inside smelled like sweat and blood and he had no desire to put it back on. He looked at the coffee on the counter and already knew there was no chance in hell it was going in his stomach. “Umm,” he looked up from the coffee, then at Jacob.

“Let me guess, now you don’t want it,” he sneered a little.

“Sorry,” Desmond shrugged.

To his surprise Jacob just shrugged too, “Figured after I heard you in the bathroom,” he said taking the coffee, preparing it properly with the water and then drank it down without to much complaint.

Desmond’s brain finally decided to wake up and realized the guy looked familiar. He couldn’t remember _why_ but he did. He was definitely of Middle Eastern decent, with short dark hair and eyes the same color as the turkish coffee. It actually got really annoying after a few seconds why he couldn’t remember where the hell he seemed to know this guy from. “Sorry about the coffee,” he said.

“Why? You paid for it?” the arab rose a brow at him.

Desmond blinked, “I did didn’t I,” he said distantly, “Whatever, later,” and he made for the door not looking forward to wearing the helmet.

“Hold on!” Jacob yelled and practically jumped from behind the counter. “You come in on the Ninja?” he demanded grabbing Desmond by the arm before he could leave.

“Uh, yeah, and I plan on leaving on it too,” he gave the man a strange look as if you ask why he was asking stupid questions.

“Then I _really_ can’t let you go,” he said.

Desmond blink, “You’re ganna have to run that by me again. What?” he frowned firmly at the freakishly familiar total stranger.

“As as fellow biker I can’t in good conscience let you leave after you came in here like _that_ ,” he said almost glaring at Desmond wondering why he was being an idiot. Desmond looked at where he’d parked his bike, not ten feet away was another one he’d totally missed when he’d come in. Unlike his it was a Harley Sportster, looked like it was made in the fifties or sixties and it was in _perfect_ condition. Desmond refrained from shrugging Jacob off just so he could go _touch it._

Desmond looked back at the irritated man, “I have somepla- Okay, what do you suggest?” he changed his mind mid way through. He was just about to say he had to go somewhere when he realized he didn’t. Hawk had said one of them would contact him when it was safe. He didn’t know when that would be though, it could be hours, it could be days. It all depended on how damn persistent the Templars were. The last time they’d been found it was by the Order, and it had taken the others a week to shake the trail. But then again the Assassins were better at everything they did then the Templars. Smaller numbers didn’t mean weaker, it just meant less people on the field.

“Stay here until you don’t look like something my cat dragged in,” he said bluntly. Desmond finally actually looked around the coffee shop and saw that while it wasn’t the biggest place in the world it was crammed with overstuffed chairs, a few tables which were covered in magazines and old newspapers. The walls were covered in murals of tranquil plain scenes and a few small tapestry and wall scrolls. It only occurred to him when he stared at the comfortable looking chairs that he hadn’t slept all night and he was exhausted.

“Fine,” he tugged away from Jacob and fell less then gracefully into the nearest giant chair. The darker man just muttered under his breath in Arabic, sounding annoyed and probably cursing Desmond’s Americanness. Frankly Desmond couldn’t care a wit, since the chair was amazingly comfortable and he only had to lean his head over to the side before he was asleep, his helmet between his feet.


	6. Scars From an Eagle

When Desmond opened his eyes he had a terrible feeling of not knowing where he was. For one he was sleeping on a couch, his motorcycle jacket acting as a makeshift blanket, and there was something rather heavy on his shoulder that sounded like listening to bikes from a distance. It took him several seconds to realize that the thing on his body was farm and when he reached an arm up distractedly it touched fur; a cat. There was a fucking cat on his shoulder.

Where the fuck was he again?

Sitting up, and pissing off the cat who now found itself on the couch, Desmond rubbed his head, flakes of dried blood came off on his hand and he muttered under his breath looking around. Seriously, where the fuck was he? He was in a normal apartment, looked like a total of one person lived in it. Desmond had flash backs of the one room apartments he used to rent only a few months at a time and it was eerily familiar. But that had been three months ago. 

The cat mewed and he looked down at it. It was a giant cat, but not fat; it was just a freakishly huge cat with bright blue eyes and dark gray fur with white socks, and blaze along it’s back. It mewed at him again and he scratched it behind the ears distractedly as he tried to figure out how he’d gotten here.

He remember stumbling into that little coffee shop… thing, thinking back on it now that he wasn’t so tired and fucked up he was pretty sure it was a cafe. Why else would they sell stuffed pita sandwiches? Then he’d puked his guts out and then when he’d tried to leave that guy, Jacob, had stopped him. He’d fallen asleep in one of the chairs.

That still didn’t explain where the fuck he was though!

Desmond leaned over his knees rubbing his eyes. C’mon, there had to be more then that. He didn’t just _magically_ appear here out of thin air after all. As awesome as that would be he was pretty sure there was no Piece of Eden that let the user aparate. Mr. Giant-ass-cat mewed again, Desmond had stopped petting it and butted it’s head up under Desmond’s hand for more scratches.

Wait. The cat. Desmond stared at it. He was _pretty sure_ Jacob said he had a cat…

Now the question became why the fuck was he in Jacob’s apartment and speaking of, where was that asshole?

That was if he was even there in the first place.

“Oh,” Desmond was sure if he was in front of a mirror he would have seen the light bulb when finally his brain kicked in and decided to function properly.

He remembered being shaken awake from his nap in the chair and there was that dumb familiar stranger. He’d said something and unthinking Desmond had replied in Arabic, he didn’t remember what he’d said. That sort of information was beyond him. He _did_ remember though that Jacob had said he was doing his one good samaritan deed for the year by helping Desmond out and pulled the assassin out of the chair saying something along the lines that if Desmond wasn’t such a freak (which apparently was treading a fine line) he could finish his nap at his place. 

It was painfully obvious there was no way Desmond could pilot his bike though in his state since he was still feeling the effects from what he’d done with the Apple and could barely walk a strait line. So Jacob had slapped his cracked helmet onto Desmond’s head and ordered him onto the back of the Sportster. If for that reason alone Desmond wished he’d been more cognoscente, since he doubted he’d ever be close to a bike like that ever again unless Jacob took pity on him. Which seemed unlikely.

Mr. Giant-ass-cat mewed irritably. Desmond _still_ wasn’t petting it. Which apparently was a crime against it’s very nature because it stood up on it’s lanky legs and clambered into Desmond’s lap.

Great.

He was in a weird apartment of a guy who was about as much of an asshole as Shaun, and his cat was sitting in his lap looking like it never got any attention in it’s life. When Desmond thought about it that could be possible since Jacob didn’t seem like a particularly cheerful person. Though… cats tended to not be overly cheerful; maybe they got along just fine. Frowning he finally scratched the cat under it’s chin making it purr like a motor boat as he tried to figure out what to do. He had no idea where he was, or where in relation this place was to where he’d left his Ninja, and…

Where was the Apple?

He practically threw the cat off his lap and rifled around in the pockets of his jacket.

Nothing.

Under the helmet?

No.

Had it rolled under the couch or some other piece of furniture? Fuck that dumb cat was hissing at him now.

No not there either.

He got up from the floor and dug through the pillows on the couch, tossing them onto the floor.

Still no Apple.

Standing he went over to the kitchen slash dinning room area was, nothing there either. That didn’t stop him from going through the cupboards.

“Have you lost your mind?” he spun when a voice cut through his worrying. There was Jacob dressed down from his work clothes, head cocked to the side like he had no idea what the hell had possessed Desmond at the moment.

“Did you take something off me?” Desmond blurted out. If this guy had made him lose his Apple, the only thing he had to keep track of in his fucked up life he was going to punch his fucking lights out.

“Uh?” Jacob rose a brow off him.

“The metal ball I had you idiot!” he snapped.

“Kadar has it,” Jacob said and Desmond froze. “You okay?” he asked when Desmond stopped breathing and looked like a statue.

“I’m sorry; who?” he looked at Jacob hard.

“Kadar,” he said again, then looked around, “Oh there he is,” he pointed and Desmond looked, following his finger. Kadar was that giant ass cat.

“Your cat has my… Apple?” he might as well just call it that, better then calling it a ball.

“Somewhere,” Jacob said slowly and padded over to the cat who still looked pissed about being thrown off Desmond’s lap. He looked in the places Desmond had, shoving the cat away any time the creature tried to get within bothering range. The poor thing really didn’t get any attention, no wonder it had bothered the hell out of Desmond. Jacob ‘hmmmed’ before moving out the room, Desmond was still standing in the kitchen, eyes going between Jacob and Kadar. 

This had to be some weird coincidence. That was the only thing Desmond could think of for why some random guy would have a cat named after a novice assassin. He was pretty sure Kadar wasn’t a very common name either, so it was even a stranger coincidence.

“Found it!” Jacob yelled startling Desmond out of his mild stupor and reappeared some down the hall where there were two doors. “Here,” he tossed the Apple at Desmond and he caught it, sighing in relief when he finally held it in his hand. He’d gone through hell, high water, Templars and crazy ghost women to get this fucking thing, he’d be damned if it ever left his sight or reach. “What is it anyways?” he asked.

“Heirloom,” Desmond said rolling it in his hands.

“Fuck,” Desmond looked up, “You’re bleeding… again,” was the lame addition but he wasn’t pointing to Desmond’s head. He was pointing to his flank where a red patch had appeared on his hoodie. When had that happened?

He turned away and unzipped his sweatshirt before lifting his shirt up. Fuck. One of the wounds he’d gotten while training with Altair had opened back up. He might have had the bleeding effect to help him with his skills, but Desmond was still a novice as far as assassins went. The other three had been helping him train over the past few weeks. Combat with Altair, urban movement with Ezio and tactics with Hawk. This particular wound was from when he and Altair had been knife fighting. It was why he was always a patchwork of colors, because no matter how much he trained or how fast he moved Altair was _always_ faster, and never pulled his punches unless it was he seriously didn’t hurt Desmond. The wound much had opened up when he’d been freaking out about the Apple and it was bled through the bandages, his shirt and had started to ruin his jacket.

Awesome.

“Holy fuck,” he looked up, Jacob was around him now and staring at where Desmond was hurt and of course he could also see the dark purple bruise on his hip bone from where Altair had landed a hit and it still ached dully with just his pants on. “Who the hell has been beating you up?” he stared at Desmond now.

“It’s fine, do you have any bandages?” Desmond brushed it off.

“No really, are you okay?” Jacob touched his arm.

“Yes, I’m fine except that I’m still fucking bleeding; bandages,” he snapped. He felt kind of bad when the other man looked genuinely hurt by his snap but moved away. Desmond sagged onto the nearby kitchen chair, putting the Apple in with some of it’s edible cousins in the bowl on the table and pulled off first his hoodie, then his shirt. Kadar jumped up onto the table mewing.

“ _Not now Kadar, I’m busy,_ ” he muttered in Arabic and barely realized it as he pulled at the bandages wound around his torso. He remembered Hawk had been so pissed when Desmond had shown him. Not at Desmond but at Altair, for hurting him and on one of the few occasions he got to witness Hawk go off on one of the older assassins for being lax in whatever it was they were doing. The only other time Desmond had seen Hawk even raise his voice above jovial was when Ezio had been almost been arrested by the police for free running and causing public disorder.

He looked up when Jacob came back and ignored how he was staring at the patchwork of old bruises and ones that were still healing. Not all of them were Altair’s fault either, several were from his own clumsiness as he chased Ezio around in foot. Thankfully Jacob didn’t ask and just gave Desmond the damn bandages and Desmond used his hidden blade to cut off the old one before wrapping the new ones around his torso in the way Hawk had shown him so he wasn’t constantly having to change Desmond’s own dressings.

“Thanks,” he said and skipped the shirt for the fact that it was totally ruined by blood and just put on his hoodie, zipping it up and hiding his bruises, his tattoos and his hidden blade under its whiteness. 

There was a weird long moment of silence before Jacob finally said, “You ganna tell me who the fuck you are now?” he folded his arms, it was a very familiar stance and it freaked Desmond out.

He sighed and Kadar went to swat at the Apple, “Stop that you dumb ass-

“Don’t call my cat a dumb ass,” Jacob snapped.

“I will if he acts like one,” and he snatched the Apple from the bowl and shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie. Jacob just gave him a look as if to say ‘I’m waiting’. “My name is Desmond Miles.”


	7. Bird In Hand

Desmond was glad to be back on his own bike. After convincing Jacob that no he wasn’t high, or drunk, or on some sort of crazy hallucinogens the guy finally agreed to take Desmond back to his Ninja. There was a small bag wedged between the wheel and the seat of the bike, which Desmond grabbed and pulled out a fresh shirt since the bag contained one full set of clothes and a knife. He shrugged off his hoodie in broad day light and quickly grabbed the shirt over his head, keenly aware of Jacob scowling at his bruised over skin. Digging around in the bag after he’d zipped up his hoodie he found the knife, the blade was almost as long as his hand and the non sharp side had teeth. It was a regular hunting knife. 

He pocketed the knife, grateful to have one more weapon on him. He’d gone light with just his hidden blade and the Apple last night to play chicken with Abstergo. But after several weeks of living with a semi paranoid, semi totally functional almost millennia old great grand father he’d learned that it was always good to have a blade your right hand could grab in case someone wanted to snap your left one up behind your back like an asshole. He still had no idea what to do with the helmet though, it was busted and there was no way Desmond could fix it, and he had no idea where to get another one. He could ride around without one but seeing as he’d already cracked his head earlier it seemed very possible he could do it again.

Sighing he crumpled the bag in his hands and shoved it back under the seat and actually took a few moments to look the bike over, make sure nothing was broken or piping had come undone. It was the only thing he felt  useful doing when around the other three. Before he’d been a bartender he’d interned at a motorcycle repair shop for a few months before he’d been old enough. After a few minutes he was satisfied that otherwise besides a bit of a bend in the fork (which he couldn’t do anything about) that was barely noticeable the bike was fine.

When he looked back up he was actually surprised Jacob was still there, watching him as he leaned against his Sportster, open faced helmet hung on one of the mirrors, arms folded across his chest half scowling. “You didn’t leave yet?” Desmond blurted out and immediately felt like an idiot.

“I’m not just going to leave an abuse victim by themselves,” he said sourly, realizing Desmond was an idiot.

“I told you already I’m not,” Desmond muttered.

“Then what? You were busy punching yourself?” Desmond didn’t have a reply for that, “Cause as far as I know it is really hard to punch yourself in the back,” his eyes narrowed.

Desmond sighed and ran a hand over his face, this guy just wasn’t going to leave till he got Desmond to do whatever the hell he wanted him to do. He figured it was best to not fight it. It was like fighting with Ezio if you could survive a fall from a one story building. It didn’t matter if you were logical or didn’t want to; he _was going to make you do it._

“What do you want Jacob?” he sighed, better just to get it over with.

“Let me take you to the hospital,” he said. Yeah right, like that was going to happen in a million years.

“I don’t do hospitals,” Desmond said sourly.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Hospitals ask to many questions,” Desmond told him, “And I couldn’t afford it anyway,” he took out his wallet and opened it, he had a fifty in it but that was all, no credit cards, no ID, no SS card, no health insurance, nothing; just a single lonely bill.

Jacob frowned and Desmond put his wallet away. “I know a walk in clinic, they won’t ask,” he said after a few seconds.

“Fine, where is it?”

“Follow me,” and Jacob turned around getting onto his bike, Desmond followed, jamming on his helmet and pulling on his jacket. The helmet still smelled like sweat and blood, neither scents Desmond couldn’t get over. It was just that fact that it was _his_ blood that he planned on ditching the thing as soon as he could. The Sportster thundered, the Ninja growled back and Desmond pushed the kickstand up. Jacob pushed the bike out into traffic and Desmond followed, left hand sinking into the pocket of his jacket, cupping the Apple.

The light turned green.

—

The clinic was clean at least, but it could barely be called a clinic. There was a front room where a dark skinned kid about the age of fifteen sat at a desk playing on a computer that looked like something out of the nineties and Desmond could hear the few moving parts in the beast straining. If Hawk saw the thing he’d probably have a heart attack. The thought made Desmond smile slightly. There was one door to the place just off to the side of the desk and Desmond had a feeling that there wasn’t much beyond that other than a room.

It looked like a back alley doctor worked here, the ones gang members and criminals went to so they didn’t have to go to the hospital or more well to do clinics. Why the hell did Jacob know about a place like this? Desmond thought it better just not to ask.

“What chu wan’?” the teenager looked at them, looking bored.

“Flint in?” Jacob asked.

“Who wants’ta know?” he eyed Jacob now then looked over at Desmond who looked back.

“He’s got a patient,” Jacob said. After clicking a few things on the screen the teen got up from the desk and went to the door, going in. He was only in there for less than a minute before he came back out holding the door open and making motions that they were to go in.

The door closed behind them and Desmond looked around the new room. It was clean as well, this only freakishly so and the place smelled like it’d just had a fresh coat of paper yellow paint put on the walls. There was a gurney along one wall, a shelf along another with closed cupboards covering every surface save for a small counter. On the wall opposite the gurney was a desk that had been crammed into the corner where a man sat.

He wasn’t exactly old either, which didn’t put Desmond’s fears to rest at all. But when they entered he looked away from his computer, which was much nicer then the one his “secretary” played on, and smiled. “Jacob, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked. “You better not have almost got your arm cut off again,” it was a playful scold.

“Not here for me Flint, here for him,” Jacob said jerking a thumb at Desmond who was still worrying over the arm cutting off thing.

“What’s the trouble?” asked the man standing, Desmond turned back to him.

“He got cut,” Jacob said.

“Can he talk?” Flint asked with a chuckle. Desmond just remained quiet, staring. The doctor frowned. “Very well,” he sighed as if he was used to Desmond’s type coming into his clinic. “Where were you hurt?” he asked coming around the desk. Desmond just sighed when Jacob glared at him and unzipped his hoodie and pulled off his shirt. Flint’s eyes actually widened slightly when he saw the bruising. “Christ boy what the hell happened to you?” he asked, Desmond stayed tight mouthed, he looked at Jacob who shook his head, he didn’t know either.

Lips twisting in dislike at what he saw Flint obviously realized why they were both here. Flint wasn’t supposed to ask questions when his patients came in looking like shit. Luckily he got the hint and moved closer to Desmond, peeling off the bindings on his abdomen. “Knife wound,” he said to himself and Desmond had to refrain from jerking away when he ran his hands across his skin around the cut. It hurt, even if they were light, and Desmond didn’t like doctors to much. Especially after living through Ezio’s memories and reliving what _those_ doctors had done. “Lucky for you it’s so clean, it’ll heal just fine,” he patted Desmond on the shoulder before going over to the shelving unit and grabbing some things from the cupboards.

He came back with some disinfectant, cotton balls and some more bandages.

“I don’t need stitches?” Desmond asked tentatively as the doctor wet the cotton balls.

“Knew you could talk,” Flint smirked at him before continuing, “It’s not a very deep cut, you’re lucky, it’ll heal find on its own, you’ll have a bit of a scar but that’s about it,” and Desmond couldn’t help the hiss when the disinfectant hit the wound. Flint dressed the wound properly before moving back to the shelves, muttering to himself along the way and Desmond resigned himself to half glaring at Jacob who was ignoring him. This was totally pointless!

Desmond stared when Flint shoved a tube at him, he hadn’t been paying attention to whatever he’d been saying about what it was for. “-should go away in a few days with proper application,” he caught the tail end of the instructions and his brain understood what it was for now. It was for his bruises. Immediately he felt self conscience and grabbed his shirt, yanking it on, followed by his hoodie. He was going to have to seriously tell Altair to stop hitting him so hard during training when he saw the old bastard again. He was so fucking tired of being stared at!

“So that’s it?” Jacob asked.

“Yep,” Flint said and Jacob went to reach into his pocket, “You pull out your wallet and I’m going to punch you kid. You should know better then that,” again with the scolding.

Desmond snapped his hood up and left the room while Jacob was still talking to the doctor. The dark teen looked up from his computer for a few seconds when he passed but didn’t say anything. The bikes were still there, and he threw his leg over the Ninja pulling his jacket back on when Jacob came out of the unmarked clinic. “Where you going?” he asked coming up to Desmond.

After a few seconds he finally said, “Breakfast,” his stomach had decided it could handle eating food now because suddenly he was _starving_.

“I know a place,” Jacob said.

“I thought your yearly good samaritan deal was over by now,” Desmond said dully leaning on the helmet in his lap.

“So I can’t just keep being friendly?” he rose a brow at Desmond.

He didn’t have anything better to do really. Plus there was that little hiccup in Hawk’s plan when he’d lost his ear piece the night before. So he had no way to get in contact with the others. He’d been planning on finding some breakfast then just hanging around in front of a pair of public security cameras till Hawk decided to hack the system and find out where his Little Bird had gone.

“Lead the way,” Desmond pulled on his helmet. He really needed to do something about this blood smell.

 


	8. Nesting

Desmond splashed cold water onto his face. He felt like five day old death. But that was seriously what he got for drinking for the first time in three months. And it wasn’t like he drunk a little; he drunk a lot, mainly because he hadn’t noticed since the place they went to had a really good, really hot bartender who was just feeding Desmond drinks the entire night, and they were perfect and the bartender was distracting as hell. After working on the other side of a bar for so long Desmond had an appreciation for a well mixed drink, especially when the person mixing it was flirting and just handing him drinks on the house. Luckily he hadn’t thrown up the morning after.

Yet.

Yet was the key word because just thinking about trying to put anything into his mouth made his stomach roil.

“The hell?” he looked down. Stupid cat had managed to squirm it’s way through the almost closed door and was twining around Desmond’s ankles. He’d been here for three days now, Abstergo must have been persistent this time or else Hawk would have tracked him down by now, and the circumstances for why he was here were weird as hell.

After that first morning, where Jacob had pitied him and taken him to breakfast at some little hole in the wall place that made _excellent_ cheese bread, there had been an accident with a “parked car” and Jacob’s Sportster. The dumb driver while parallel parking had nudged the old bike, making it topple over. Desmond had never seen a guy get so angry before in his life and it had taken him several minutes to calm Jacob down and stop screaming at the poor woman who’d hit it. Desmond said he’d fix Jacob’s stupid bike if he calmed the fuck down, upon where he had to explain that _yes_ he did know how to fix motorcycles and if he calmed the fuck down he’d do it.

So now he was sleeping on Jacob’s couch (which was actually pretty comfortable), and when the Arab would go to work (on Desmond’s Ninja) he’d work on the Sportster, which really wasn’t that broken. Parts had still been crushed under it’s own weight, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t fixable, plus the woman had agreed to pay for _everything_. Probably because Jacob had been screaming at her like she’d just killed his grandmother.

The only thing Desmond didn’t like was that he’d woken up the past few mornings with Kadar sleeping on him. The cat just wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone!

“Get the fuck out of here,” he nudged the cat with his foot but the monster tom just swatted at his big toe playfully with sheathed claws. He was going to lock this cat in the damn bathroom when he left. He turned back to the mirror and his eyes finally caught a mark on his neck.

Wait… what?

Altair didn’t punch his neck; ever. Or touch it for that matter. It was to much of a weak point, and when fighting Altair if you let him get a shot at your neck uh… you were dead. Especially since he didn’t pull his punches (unless Hawk snapped at him at least).

But there was _very obviously_ a new red mark on his neck. He leaned closer to the mirror. Not only was it a red mark, it had teeth marks.

Teeth marks?

Well fuck.

Who the hell had he been making out with last night? He couldn’t for the life of him remember past the sixth drink… or was it the third shot? Either way he had very _very_ little memory of last night, he’d really drunken way to much. Well this was awkward. He patted down his pant pockets seeing if he’d gotten a number, which would have been reassuring then it might have been someone at the bar; oh, maybe the bartender (he could have lived with that). But there was none.

He started when there was a knock at the door, how the fuck had Kadar gotten in here when it was still practically shut? He swore the cat was a ninja. “Desmond, hurry the fuck up I have to take a piss,” it was Jacob and he sounded barely awake.

Mystery marks could wait and he pulled down the sleeves of his hoodie and pushed the door open. Jacob was not a graceful morning person at all, and he had a hangover on top of that so he looked even more rumpled and displeased at _everything_. Desmond quickly stepped aside and Jacob shoved past him, slamming the door behind him.

Desmond almost tripped over Kadar when he tried to walk away but he was sitting there. Right there in front of him like it was his business to block him. He really was going to lock that cat up!

—

Cursing for probably the tenth time as Desmond _tried_ to get the radiator off the Sportster and failed terribly he had to refrain from _kicking_ the bike, which itself was a crime against nature. But the damn thing just wouldn’t come off and it had a _giant_ dent in the side from where it had fallen on itself and it was slowly pissing him off.

He sighed and rocked back on his haunches looking at the bike irritably and looked over in time to see Kadar perch himself on the seat of the Harley and looked very smug about it in the way only cats can. “What do you want kitty?” he grumbled staring between the cat and the radiator. The cat just mewed and settled down on the seat before starting to purr as if he was laughing at Desmond.

Stupid, giant, creepy ninja cat. It didn’t help he was named after a novice assassin. He made a mental note to ask Jacob just where that name had come from.

His head turned when he heard the familiar growl of the Ninja pull up to the curb. Was it really that late in the day that Jacob was home? It seemed like he’d just started working. But then again he had had a late start since he hadn’t woken up till noon and hadn’t started till three. Kadar also turned to look at the new member of their poor excuse for a party and got up and leaped off the Sportster when Jacob pulled off his helmet. Desmond had since relieved someone of theirs so it now didn’t smell like blood _or_ have that giant crack in the side; all bonuses as far as he was concerned. Jacob hadn’t even asked where it had aparated from, he’d just accepted that it existed, which was the smart idea.

Bending down Jacob scooped the massive gray tom into his arms and walked over to Desmond, holding onto the helmet by the strap which dangled at the end of his fingers. “How’s it going?” he asked anxiously, he was always anxious about the motorcycle, like it was a child.

“Stupid radiator won’t come off,” Desmond grumbled irritably looking up at him from his crouched position. “Needs to be replaced,” he added and tapped the damaged part. He’d just gotten all the remaining parts and useful tools he needed to properly fix the machine; now it was just a matter of getting it all to work properly. And obviously the radiator hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Pull harder?” Jacob suggested.

“Who put this together?” he asked, ignoring Jacob’s stupidity, it was very obvious he hadn’t built the bike since he’d told Desmond he took it to a shop to be repaired.

“My brother,” he said.

“Well ask your brother what the hell he did to the radiator to make it so annoying,” Desmond glared at the radiator and ran his hand through his hair grabbing at it half way through.

“I can’t,” Jacob said and Desmond looked up at him again.

“Why not?” though he had a feeling he knew _exactly_ why Jacob couldn’t ask him. Either way he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“He’s dead,” yep, didn’t like the answer. Desmond didn’t say anything, just looked back at the bike. He shouldn’t have said anything. “What no apologizes or condolences?” Jacob asked.

Desmond looked up at him, “Not like you’d accept them,” he said which surprised the other man, since Desmond was right. “It sucks, that’s all there is to say,” and he gave a bit of a groan as he pushed off his knees to stand. “Why did you name your cat Kadar?” he asked suddenly.

Jacob shrugged, seemingly forgetting the previous subject, “Was in a dream I had.”

Desmond stared at him for a few seconds, “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said and Jacob laughed. The guy didn’t laugh often but when he did his entire body reacted to it. Kadar squirmed in his arms before jumping out of them and onto the bike; which started to tip.

Both giving a cry of alarm the two men grabbed at the bike, Jacob practically face planting into Desmond’s chest as he grabbed at the seat and Desmond took control of the handlebars. “That would have _really_ sucked,” Desmond said righting the bike properly.

“Y-yeah,” Jacob agreed, quickly letting go of the machine and left Desmond with the Sportster, and the stupid, clumsy ninja cat named Kadar to pick up the tools he’d been using and went into his apartment. After throwing everything into the box Desmond followed him inside. The main room was empty and the bedroom door was closed. Kadar strutted into the room, once again getting underfoot and Desmond forced him to one side with his foot. The cat dropped like a stone to his belly and let Desmond push him, the pissed off look on his face very obviously reading ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ 

“Shut up Kadar,” he said then realized he was talking to a cat; which didn’t speak, and only rarely meowed when it wanted attention and neither Desmond or Jacob were even remotely looking at him. He’d been sure the whole going crazy because of the bleeding effects had been righted, since apparently it was similar to what the Apple had originally done to Hawk, but now he wasn’t so sure. He _was_ talking to a cat after all. 

In the time it took for Desmond to question his sanity the bedroom door had reopened and Jacob came out, sans ugly ass work uniform and went to the kitchen. “So when are you going to stop living off me and fix my bike?” he asked opening the fridge.

“Tell it to not be so difficult and I’d be glad to fix it faster,” Desmond said walking past the still grumpy looking tom and put the box of ‘stuff’ next to the couch and fell into it. It had been covered in a sheet and acted very good as a makeshift bed for Desmond, even if his feet did stick out the end a little. Hell, beggars couldn’t be choosers. He reached out to the coffee table and grabbed the Apple from where it sat in a pile of leather that was his bike jacket and rolled it across the smooth surface of the table between his hands.

“I will once I develop an affinity with talking to machines,” was Jacob’s sarcastic reply. The fridge closed and Desmond caught a flicker at the corner of his mind and he turned in time to catch something that had been flung at his head. “Damn,” Jacob hissed when Desmond’s hand snapped up and caught the apple Jacob had thrown at him. “You have like spider-senses or something,” he smirked.

“Or something,” Desmond agreed. Or just an almost thousand year old assassin always keeping him on his toes. Desmond was pretty sure Altair was paranoid, like strait paranoid, he was just really good at hiding it most of the time and acting like how Desmond expected him to; which was a frightening badass who could kill you with his pinky finger and that was it. “An apple, thanks,” Desmond rolled his eyes.

“Well I figure since you obsess over that thing, you call it an Apple, so I just _assumed_ you’d like a real one,” Jacob grinned slightly.

Desmond just ‘mmmed’ and took his hunting knife from his pocket and started to cut slices off the apple and eating them. Only when he did did he realize he was pretty much starving since he’d eaten a piece of toast and some orange juice all day. He watched the Apple roll off the coffee table and Kadar (freaky cat) was there in a second to play with it. That was why Desmond kept it wrapped in his jacket, so Kadar wouldn’t take it somewhere stupid while he worked.

“Get off dummy,” he batted Kadar’s paws away from the Apple and snatched it up, sucking down the apple slice that had been dangling from his lips. “I think your cat is retarded,” Desmond told Jacob who was looking away.

“Not my fault.”

“Well it is _your_ cat,” Desmond said, “And they say pets are like their owners-

“You keep going and you can sleep outside,” Jacob leered at him, challenging him to finish the thought.

“And you can find someone else to fix your bike for free.”

Silence, “Touche,” Jacob finally said and Desmond smirked before standing. He was seriously hungry now and sheathing his knife he finished eating the apple properly and went into the kitchen and rifled through the cabinets, fridge and freezer looking for anything interesting.

Finally he’d pulled out a bunch of shit and proceeded to pilfer the pots cabinet for what else he needed before going to work. “I didn’t know you cooked,” Jacob said.

“You didn’t ask,” was his standard reply. He was seriously hungry now and making food was _not_ helping his protesting stomach. Jacob just sat at the kitchen table watching him. Desmond wasn’t the best cook in the world, but he’d had to cook for himself while he’d been on he run, which had stopped when he’d been kidnapped by Abstergo and then spent more time in the Animus then being fully conscience. When he’d met up with the others he’d found that Ezio actually cooked too, so he and Ezio had traded the duty since the others didn’t. Hawk was afraid of the stove (for good reason since he’d almost set himself on fire) and Altair wasn’t allowed _anywhere near_ an oven or a stove. Desmond was pretty sure he didn’t want to know exactly why there was a ban on Altair and ranges but he had a feeling it had something to do with burning something he really shouldn’t have; like a safe house or something.

Seemed like something that would warrant telling the old assassin he wasn’t allowed to do something. Since no one ever told Altair he couldn’t do something (unless you were Hawk).

Less than an hour later (it felt like a million years to Desmond who was sure he was about to pass out from hunger (which was highly exaggerated)) what Desmond had slapped together was done. He didn’t even ask Jacob if he wanted any, a plate just appeared in front of the man and Desmond ate like it was his last meal on earth. While he did so Kadar, who actually hadn’t bothered him while he was cooking, jumped up onto the table and tried to nose his way first into Desmond’s plate, then Jacob’s.

Needless to say that didn’t end well for Kadar when Jacob shoved the cat off the table. It, of course being a cat, landed on it’s feet and glared at Jacob. Desmond was glad to see he wasn’t the only crazy one since Jacob made a face at it when he thought Desmond wasn’t looking. “Told you your cat was retarded,” Desmond said after swallowing.

“He’s just special,” Jacob said defensively.

“That’s what parents tell their kids when they don’t want to say they’re stupid-

“So I’m guessing your parents told you that all the time,” Jacob cut in.

Desmond chuckled mirthlessly, “I wish,” he muttered and turned back to his food. One subject he didn’t ever want to broach; his parents and his childhood. “You get to clean up,” he told Jacob once he’d finished and put his plate in the sink.

“Wait, what?” Jacob spun in his chair.

“I cooked, you get to clean. Now excuse me, I’m going to take a shower,” and he left Jacob staring after him as if wishing he’d burst into flames.

—

Desmond worked the towel over his short hair as he stepped out of the bathroom dressed in nothing more then his pants and that ointment Dr. Flint had given him, dirty clothes shoved under his arm. He had to admit the stuff did work since most of the bruises were gone, or if they weren’t gone they had faded significantly over the past few days and only a few of the larger ones were still present; like the one on his hip, and there was another ugly one on his thigh, those sorts of bruises were still prominent, but most of the others had all but faded. And of course there was still that lovely cut on his abdomen from Altair. Not to mention his latest injury, the one he didn’t know where he’d even gotten. He preferred to know which jaw he could attach bite marks to so he knew if he needed to punch them or not.

As he was coming out of the bathroom Jacob was headed to his room, and he stopped when he saw Desmond. “What you looking at?” he asked as he saw Jacob’s eyes zero in on the mark just above his collar bone. “Yo, Earth to Jacob, do you copy?” he took a step forward and snapped his fingers in front of Jacob’s face when he didn’t respond the first time. “You’re freaking me out man, you all right?”

“Just peachy,” came the half scathing remark.

“How drunk were you last night?” Desmond asked, once again abruptly changing the subject.

“Excuse me?”

“Cause I don’t remember where I got this,” he pointed at the new neck mark.

“You’re serious?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. That bartender kept handing me free drinks,” he said pulling at the ends of the towel which was now draped over his shoulders. “I can’t just not drink it. That’d have been disrespectful.”

“I feel like you not remembering is good enough justice for drinking that much,” Jacob said and leaned against the wall of the narrow hallway.

“I bet you don’t know either, since I recall you were keeping pace,” Desmond said and strolled past him only to be stopped when something caught his belt-loop,

“I know _exactly_ how you got that thank you very much,” Jacob told him smartly when he turned. And to prove his point Desmond suddenly found his his mouth covered by his. Well that was unexpected because Desmond didn’t stop him when once again the man’s fingers found Desmond’s belt-loops and dragged him closer. That and he really didn’t mind this. Not really, he’d had way worse encounters in his life. So, he kissed back pressing his hips forward and into Jacob’s. Hands came out of his belt loops and one was behind his neck, the other gripped his hip, the hurt side (he was pretty sure he did it on purpose too).

A few minutes later the door to Jacob’s room somehow got opened. Desmond wasn’t quite sure how since his hands were occupied, as were Jacob’s, but it got opened _somehow_ and Desmond decided to leave it at that and they stumbled into the bedroom. There was just one problem…

“Kadar get off the fucking bed!”


	9. The Murder

Desmond usually woke when the sun rose. The others slept like birds, being awake during the day and once it got dark they tended to slow down and slept early. That was if they weren’t doing something they’d waited specifically till it was dark to do at least like their hit on Abstergo. Desmond had fallen into that rhythm without realizing it and had taken on those tendencies. So he _knew_ when the sun rose every morning because his internal clock always knew when the sun was rising.

So the fact that he was awake now when the sun wasn’t supposed to rise for more than a half an hour pissed him off.

It was a cellphone. It had been going off for the past thirty seconds and had totally jarred Desmond out of his sleep. He’d always been a light sleeper and the ring tone “ _never ganna give you up, never ganna let you down-_ ” playing across the room from a pile of clothes wasn’t helping the matter. Luckily Jacob seemed to be a light sleeper too. And he was also the worst morning person Desmond had ever seen. So when the music stopped only to start up again immediately he wasn’t surprised when the sheet was thrown all over the place and the Arab stormed over to where he’d abandoned his jeans lay and dug around in them finally pulling out the silver flip phone.

“Who the fuck is this?” yeah, really not a morning person. Desmond turned back into the pillow, half and hour, he had half an hour before his body demanded he get up (and this time he didn’t have a hangover to keep him thoroughly sedated). “Who?” Ignore him Desmond told himself. Sleep was way more important. “Who is this? How did you get my number? … No… Why should-… tell me who you are fi- … will you let me finish a sentence? Thank you. Tell me who you are… what do you mean you can’t tell me; that’s so stupid. What? I… no-“  there was then some muttering and silence, Desmond closed his eyes. Half an hour, half an hour, he just kept chanting it. “Oi,” something poked him.

“What?” he opened one eye, Jacob was standing over him, hair still totally bedraggled.

“It’s for you,” he said holding out the phone and Desmond blinked.

“Excuse me?” he pushed himself up slightly.

“It’s for you,” Jacob repeated. Desmond grabbed the cell phone and he was pretty sure he already knew who it was.

“How the hell di-

“You idiot!” it was Hawk, and he sounded pissed. “How did you lose your ear piece!”

“It fell when I dealt with… uh _them_ ,” he glanced at Jacob who’d decided it was far to fucking early for this (Desmond had to agree) and was trying to go back to sleep. “Didn’t the others tell you what I-

“Where the hell are you?” Hawk cut him off, he was agitated and hard to understand since when he was agitated (or overly excited) his accent became thicker.

“You need to calm down man,” Desmond said.

“I couldn’t find you for _three_ _days_! Don’t tell me to calm down brat!” he snapped, wow, Hawk was actually mad at him. That wasn’t fun. “Now where are you?” Desmond told him, “We’re coming to get you,” he said.

“Now?”

“No tomorrow. Yes now Little Bird. Abstergo is all over the city, and the Order caught wind of what we did and that the Templars are mobilizing. They’re sending squads here. Squads Little Bird, not just a few of them. They’re serious. If they meet there will be war, and if they catch a scent… it’ll be baaaaad.”

“Fuck,” Desmond muttered rubbing his head. “I- fine, okay,” he nodded. “When are you getting here?”

“An hour, I sent the Little Eagle ahead to check out the area make sure the Templars aren’t there already or the Order for that matter. Get your stuff together, make sure your blade isn’t dirty, and say goodbye to your friend.”

“Right. I’ll see you guys then,” he snapped the phone closed and got out of the bed, Jacob just pretended to be asleep.

—

Damn Jacob to all the hells Desmond could think of. Once again in front of the mirror Desmond found that neat, red, circular marks had appeared on his skin, this time all over his chest. Someone seriously had a kink and Desmond wasn’t amused. Just what he needed, love bites all over his chest, at least there weren’t any lower then that. It was a small consultation and Desmond dressed, in clothes he’d bought at the thrift store next to where Jacob worked, in the bathroom before leaving.

By now the sun had risen and was peaking through the window in the kitchen. Desmond went over to the couch and found the Apple which had rolled under under it before going over to the kitchen table and put his hidden blade on it’s top. He then started to take it apart, using a soft clean rag that had been in the bag under the seat of his Ninja to ensure that all the small moving parts were clean and that they moved cleanly against each other without losing the speed that made them even more deadly then just an average knife.

Half way through putting it back together the bedroom door opened. “Hey there sleeping beauty,” Desmond didn’t look up when he said that, he was to busy making sure that the blade was sitting in the sled of the ejector properly so it wouldn’t slide around when he used it.

“Who was that?” Jacob asked.

“Friend of mine,” Desmond said, eyes flicking up for only a second or so, enough to see Jacob was just wearing a pair of pajama pants and he’d taken about six seconds to run a brush through his wild bed head.

“You invited them over to my house,” he said sourly.

“They won’t be coming in, no worries,” Desmond said and twisted the clamp that held the blade in sled tightly and finally looked up. Jacob just had a scowl on his face and like magic Kadar jumped up onto the table. Desmond pushed him off again when he tried to nose around Desmond’s hands and the hidden blade. He didn’t want cat hair in the small moving parts, not after he’d just cleaned it. “Also, sorry about your bike.”

“Why? You didn’t do anything,” Jacob’s eyebrows twisted as he frowned.

“Cause I won’t get to finish fixing it,” he looked back at the blade to put the protective house into the groves on it to keep the delicate mechanics of the blade safe from outside harm, be it damage or weather.

“How come?” a chair scraped and he leaned against it.

“I’m leaving,” he said calmly looking at the Arab.

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t safe here,” eyes back down on his work and fiddling with a few parts of the rest of the design before pulling up the sleeve of his new black hoodie and affixed the blade to his arm via the leather straps. “Well, not for me at least,” he smiled in a dry mirthless sort of way and looked at Jacob from under his eyebrows.

“When are you-

Jacob was interrupted by knocking.

“I got it,” Desmond jumped to his feet, grabbing the Apple up as he went and it found its way into his pocket. He looked through the peep hole first though he was pretty sure he knew who was there, but you could never be to careful, not when two of the most powerful secret organizations in the world were busy hunting you like a fox. There was no one in plain sight but looking at the very edge of the wall he saw a hint of the bottom of a pant leg. He undid the locks on the door before opening it. “You three seriously need to relax,” Desmond stuck his head out of the door to look down the wall next to it where two of the three were waiting. He twisted back quickly when he felt something behind him and rightfully avoided a hit to the side from the other side of the door.

“That’s for being an idiot,” Altair growled at him.

“I’m not dead am I?” he asked them at large.

“Or captured,” Hawk said looking vastly more relieved then the other two. Standing next to Ezio and Altair Hawk looked comically short and Desmond couldn’t help the quirk of his lips.

“We need to go, now,” Altair said looking down the hall to the outside door.

“I’ll be right back,” he said leaving the door open and grabbing his jacket and helmet from the coffee table. He was about to go back to the front door when he remembered he’d left his hunting knife in Jacob’s room since it had been in his pocket last night. Rule one; never go anywhere without a blade, even if it’s just to shower. He found it on the bedside table and snatched it up shoving it into the pocket of his dark jeans and as he left the room he heard talking from down the short hall.

When he came back out into the main room he was shocked to see Altair was inside the place, and he was talking to Jacob. Well making talking was to kind a word since Jacob didn’t seem at all pleased by Altair’s presence, the older man just had a strange shocked look on his face. And they were talking in Arabic, which Desmond only knew Jacob to do when he wasn’t happy about something.

“We need to go,” Desmond reminded Altair as he passed, the old assassin looked at him, then at Jacob. Fuck. Altair wasn’t dumb, in fact he was incredibly intelligent, gave Hawk a run for his money on sheer amount of borderline useless information he possessed as well as useful information, and of course he noticed the red mark on Desmond’s neck. And since Altair wasn’t an idiot he knew exactly what it was from; which was why he was now looking at Jacob like a eagle about to rip something apart.

In about three seconds Altair went from calm, if slightly bewildered, to deadly and snapped out in his native tongue so fast Desmond couldn’t understand it. Then the yelling match began. Well, sort of yelling match, neither of them really raised their voices, it just got steadily more and more intense and Desmond took several steps back.

“What’s going on?” Hawk asked at his elbow. He and Ezio could probably only follow a small part about what was going on. Ezio only knew a bit of Arabic (helpful phrases and common words) mainly as as way to placate Altair, Hawk on the other hand only knew the most common words when they were being spoken but could read and write in Arabic as well as Altair could.

“You _really_ don’t want to know,” Desmond pressed his hand over his eyes. Hell he didn’t even want to know. But he could understand them perfectly and it was so embarrassing he wanted to die on the spot. After several minutes the argument just boiled down to them insulting each other. Jacob in three tongues, English, Arabic and Spanish, and Altair in more then Desmond could correctly name, the ones he recognized though were English, Arabic, Spanish, French, Dutch, German, Italian, Greek and some sort of language from the orient. After that though he couldn’t name the rest, but there was a serious collection of them and Desmond could only assume they were colorful as the ones he was spitting in English, Arabic and Italian.

“This is ridiculous,” Ezio proclaimed. The two Arabs were only a few inches apart and looking like pissed off cats. “Help me with this,” he said to Desmond and stepped forward to grab Altair’s left arm, motioning Desmond to do the same with the right. With great reservation Desmond did as he was told, and luckily the other two weren’t even paying them any attention.

“Wait,” he held up his hand to stop Ezio.

“What?”

“Hawk, are there members of the Order here yet?” he asked the Bostonian.

“Two squads arrived yesterday, another last night, another is coming today before noon.”

“And Abstergo?”

“Anyone they can spare,” he said.

Something in Desmond’s gut told him something was wrong. Very _very_ wrong. The street Jacob lived on wasn’t exactly a busy one, but cars passed back and forth in front of the apartment building often enough. It wasn’t until now that he realized though that he hadn’t heard a car pass in front of the apartment since he’d woken up by Hawk calling Jacob’s cellphone…

“I think… they’re here,” Desmond said ignoring Ezio and going to look out the kitchen window. No cars, anywhere, no people either, or feral cats. All there were were crows which sat on the top of the building next door looking across the road seemingly right at Desmond and a chill went down his spine. “We need to go, now!” he snapped turning around and heading back towards the others. “Altair shut the fuck up,” he grabbed Altair by the arm, Altair glared at him, hard, “Templars,” he said and that fucked up light came to Altair’s eyes. This time Desmond got a chill for an entirely different reason and he let him go.

“Where?” he asked simply.

“Here,” he said. “I just don’t know where.”

Altair smirked, “Lets find them then,” his eyes turned gold, almost yellow and moved away from Desmond, ignoring Jacob like he was nothing, which did nothing for his mood.

“What the hell is going on here?” he hissed at Desmond.

“It’s complicated,” Desmond said, “Just forget we were here,” he looked out the kitchen window from where he was letting his vision wash out. In his periphery he saw Jacob as a flash of blue as he stepped back, startled by the sudden eye change. He cursed to himself as he spotted at least one red flicker across the street but quickly had to remind him that red didn’t always mean Abstergo or the Brotherhood. The police were red, as were just about every politician Desmond had seen on the TV while he’d been here with Jacob.

He looked back and saw the others were gone. He didn’t need to see them to know they’d gone to check the exits and one was probably in the stair well. Sometimes it did pay to be paranoid. He pulled on his riding jacket as he left the apartment, holding onto the chin strap with his right hand. “Hey hold on,” Jacob leaned out the door and watched Desmond walk down the hall. “That’s it?”

“Just pretend I wasn’t here. Shouldn’t be to hard,” he smirked.

“That’s such bullshit!”

“Yeah well,” his eyes flicked to something moving just behind Jacob. “Duck!” he yelled and luckily the man didn’t bother asking why. He just ducked and shoved himself out of the apartment into the hall looking back inside and saw a man dressed in white standing there, a large knife in his hand, a gun in the holster at his hip. He shown red in Desmond’s vision and without even thinking he dropped his helmet and ran at the man. Upon being closer he saw there was a red cross on the lapel of the man’s shirt; Templar. So Desmond didn’t feel guilty in the slightest when he tackled the man, arm tensing, and shoved his hidden blade through his neck.

When he looked up he saw more red shapes crawling in through the window that faced the alley and the building directly across from it. They all blazed red and deadly and spotted him quickly. Fuck fuck fuck! Desmond scrambled to his feet, blade being sucked back into it’s unused position and quickly left the apartment, closing the door. Jacob was still against the wall, staring at him, his dark brown eyes wide in surprise, awe, and more then a little fear. “We need to go,” Desmond said.

“What!” he practically shrieked in response. “Did you just kill that guy?” he sounded a bit like he was having a panic attack.

“Jacob,” Desmond went over to him and grabbed him by the arm, jerking him forward so he’d pay attention. “We need to go. When those guys open the door and you’re here they’ll either take you to figure out what you know about us or if you’re lucky they’ll just kill you,” obviously where the good option was death you didn’t want to know the details of the bad option. Jacob stared at him. “Coming with?” he asked after a second. The door started to open and Desmond decided the Arab didn’t have a choice since he grabbed Jacob by the wrist and dragged him down the hall, scooping up his helmet as he did.

On the street the other three were waiting for him. “What the hell is he doing here?” Altair growled, glaring at Jacob.

“He knows. And I bet Vidic would _love_ to get his hands on him,” he gave Altair a pointed look which just made the man pull his hood up angrily.

“Don’t lose it this time,” Hawk handed Desmond another ear piece, he put this one in as the door behind him burst open.

Four Templars dropped dead instantly when Ezio threw a quartet of knives at them. All of them finding their way into throats or snuggled into someone’s brain. “Less talk,” he snapped at the others who nodded and Desmond finally noticed the small gathering of matte black Ninjas clustered around Desmond’s own. They looked like crows, sitting there on the pavement and Desmond pulled Jacob to his shoving his new red and white helmet over his head and getting on. The Ninjas’ growled as each other came to life.

“Lose the Templars and we’re meeting out on 95, heading south,” it was Hawk’s voice in his ear, though he couldn’t see the man’s mouth move since it was covered by his full helm. Ezio was tossing knives again.

“Roger,” he told Hawk before flipping up his visor, “Get on,” he ordered Jacob who was just staring at him. He was more then a bit in shock about what was going on. Desmond sighed and reached under his jacket, pulling the Apple from his hoodie and pushing it into the jacket pocket. “Get on,” he didn’t feel guilty about using the Apple on the other man. It was that or let him fall into the hands of Abstergo. That wasn’t going to happen as far as he was concerned. The bike rocked as Jacob pulled himself behind Desmond and he slapped the visor down. The others were turning their bikes away since the exchange had only been a few seconds and the Templars were moving out of the building.

Not giving the Templars a chance Desmond lifted his left foot off the ground and twitched it through the motions of putting it into gear, then his right hand twisted down and the Ninja roared. The four bikes jumped away from the curb and without even talking about it four bikes became twenty bikes where they scatter into the city to lead the Templars on the wildest goose chase ever as they spread through the city like a murder of crows. Behind him Desmond felt Jacob tighten his grip around his waist and press his face into his back.

This was going to get real complicated real fast.


	10. Mockingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoken italics are Arabic.

The ugly motel wallpaper looked like it was peeling and the only thing comfortable was the two beds. Ezio was laying on his stomach on one watching the BBC news network since Hawk had done something or another so they could get those sort of channels. Hawk himself was sitting near Ezio’s feet, laptop on his lap glowing golden and several fiber optic-like wires connecting it to the Apple that was between his legs. Every now and than he’d glance up at the news before back at his computer. Desmond and Altair sat on the other bed.

And currently he was being glared at.

It was really uncomfortable actually since it he was sure at any moment his life would flash before his eyes before the weight and sharpness of Altair’s glare finally killed him. He was doing his best to ignore him though and exactly _why_ he was being glared at as well. Usually Altair wasn’t particularly violent unless Templars were involved and even training with Desmond he wasn’t exactly violent even if he did end up hurting the fuck out of him.

“ _You just going to glare at me all night?_ ” Desmond asked feeling it was probably better if the others didn’t have to hear whatever the two were going to be saying to each other.

“ _You are an idiot_ ,” Altair growled at him.

“ _I wasn’t going to let the Templars get him_ ,” he shot Altair a look.

“ _Then you should have killed him_.”

“ _That wasn’t an option,_ ” now he was glaring back at Altair.

“ _He shouldn’t even know we exist. He is a liability to our group and a hindrance to our mission._ ”

“ _He doesn’t_ know _anything_ ,” Desmond reminded him annoyedly. “ _We’re just some crazies who showed up at his house and probably got his cat killed,_ ” his eyes flicked to the bathroom, where Jacob had locked himself the moment Altair had thrown him into the room saying he wasn’t to cause trouble under pain of death.

“ _He’s a liability because you did something_ stupid,” Altair hissed.

“ _He helped me._ ”

“ _You had_ sex with him _!”_ Altair practically yelled and made both Ezio and Hawk look over at the other bed though neither of them could really understand what was being said. They just gave the two looks before Altair glared at them and they turned away. “ _How could you be so stupid?_ ”

“ _Sorry I’m not like you and decided to bang a Templar instead,_ ” Desmond didn’t even care if the jab hurt. There was very little that could hurt Altair after all so anything that could slow him down was fair game in Desmond’s opinion or Altair would just steamroll over him.

“ _If I hadn’t you wouldn’t even be here._ ”

“ _So then none of us would be in this mess. Sounds perfectly acceptable to me,_ ” anger flickered across Altair’s eyes. “ _Including Jacob, so you’re argument is invalid_ ,” he said.

“ _Regardless, we are in this situation now and you have given us unnecessary baggage._ ”

“ _Would you prefer I’d killed him?_ ”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Desmond looked Altair over before frowning and narrowed his eyes, “ _You’re such a lier._ ”

“ _I don’t want him here,_ ” Altair hissed.

“ _So it’s death or the Templars?_ ”

“ _He shouldn’t be here,_ ” Altair was getting more irritated.

“ _You just don’t want him here because he looks like Malik,_ ” and Altair flinched away simply when Desmond said his name. “ _That’s it isn’t it? Man you’re pathetic._ ”

Altair tackled him than, and Desmond wasn’t expecting it and they fell off the bed. Neither of them got a chance to land a hit though because almost as soon as Altair had shoved them off the bed there were hands on them both and they were pulling them apart.

“What are you two doing!?” Ezio yelled holding firmly to Altair. Hawk had let go of Desmond since he wasn’t the one who’d wanted to fight. Altair was just standing there but his eyes were on Desmond. “Altair?” he demanded.

“Let me go,” he pushed the Italian away and clearly since he no longer seemed to want to kill Desmond Ezio allowed himself to be defeated.

“You all right Little Bird?” Hawk asked.

“Yeah, he just surprised me that’s all,” Desmond was trembling though. He’d been sure for about a second that he’d seen the crazy in Altair snap and knew that if I guy like Altair snapped it wouldn’t be hard for him to kill Desmond with barely thinking about it.

“What were you thinking?” Ezio demanded.

“It’s fine, really,” Desmond cut in. “No one got hurt. Just let it go guys,” he only pleased a little bit.

“You sure?”

“I am,” Desmond said, Ezio made a bit of a face but stepped away from Altair and went back to the bed, sitting on it now and Hawk went back to his computer, once again seeming to almost totally tune out the outside world. “ _You all right?_ ” Desmond asked Altair carefully.

“ _Nothing good will come of this,_ ” was all he said looking at the bathroom door.

“ _You aren’t allowed to kill him,_ ” Desmond told him sternly and sat on the bed.

“ _We can’t keep him with us._ ”

“ _So you want Abstergo to get him then? You know what they’ll do to him,_ ” he shot Altair a look. “ _Even if it’s just some fucked up coincidence-_

“ _There are no such things as coincidences._ ”

“ _Whatever. They’ll still torture him to get any information they can out of him about us._ ”

“ _Which would have been a lot less if you hadn’t brought him here!_ ”

“ _And then they would have killed him,_ ” Desmond snapped.

“Oi, you two play nice,” Ezio snapped at the both of them from the other bed looking at them sternly like they were misbehaving children. “Don’t make me separate you two-

“Shut up Ezio,” everyone said at the same time, even Hawk and it surprised Desmond so much that he laughed. The Italian just looked annoyed and glared back at the TV in a huff.

“I have a question,” Hawk asked once Desmond had stopped laughing. “Are we just going to let him stay in there all night?” four sets of eyes turned to the bathroom door which had been shut and locked for a few hours.

“He can come out when he wants,” Desmond shrugged. “It isn’t like he’s going anywhere.”

Hawk’s eyes flicked over to them, “What are we going to do with him?”

“He’s hang around,” Desmond cut Altair off before he could speak. “Right?” he looked at Altair.

“He can stick around for now,” Altair omitted.

“Okay,” Hawk looked at his computer for a moment, “Someone needs to go get him some clothes than,” he said thoughtfully, “Unless I was the only one who noticed he managed to stay on Little Bird’s bike in nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a shirt. Kid doesn’t even have clothes.”

“I will,” Ezio volunteered immediately; of course he did.

“You aren’t allowed to go by yourself,” Altair growled. “Last time we let you go do something like this on your own you came back with the dumbest shit imaginable.”

“It wasn’t that bad Altair,” Ezio rolled his eyes.

“You also have no idea where you’re going.”

“Like you do?” Ezio snorted.

“I do,” Desmond said.

“You do?” they all sent him questioning looks.

“I lived in Pittsburgh for four months two years ago,” he said.

“Its a plan then!” Ezio said cheerfully and hopped off the bed. “Me and Dessy here will go find Mr. Jacob some new clothes and you two can… I dunno, do whatever it is you do,” he grinned.

Altair didn’t look impressed by his enthusiasm. “Fine,” he said flatly.

“Wonderful,” Ezio said cheerfully. “Lets go Desmond,” he grabbed Desmond’s arm and hauled him off the bed and out the door. As they left he was sure he heard Altair muttering something about idiots before the door closed.


	11. Dead Lovebird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoken italics are Italian

Desmond frowned as Ezio held up a shirt under his chin. It was ugly and purple and was very obviously one of those skin sticking polyester things. After reliving the lives of two men who didn’t even know what cotton was let alone wore it Desmond never wanted to wear anything but the soft, easy to manage fabric ever again. But that wasn’t really the point.

“Ezio what are you doing? We’re getting clothes for Jacob,” he sighed.

“You’re skin tone is more similar than mine,” Ezio said. “And you wear that same stupid hoodie all the time, what do you care?”

Desmond rolled his eyes, “Well it’s ugly,” Desmond replied curtly. “And you’re probably looking for yourself you egotist,” he snatched the shirt away and shoved it back onto the rack.

“Oh come now Des, lighten up a bit. Altair and Hawk aren’t here to breath down our necks,” Ezio said mischievously. Of all the three Ezio was by far the most… well, normal really. Altair was crazy and Hawk was short of a super genius. Ezio was the only one who could probably blend in seemlessly with modern culture as Desmond could, the others had tells. Altair was twitchy and didn’t like crowds, hated them actually and more than once when the old assassin had come on trips out into the real world Ezio had had to stop Altair from stabbing someone because to him they looked _suspicious._ Hawk didn’t like people; at all, for any reason, except for him, Ezio and Altair. He didn’t have people skills and ended up either glaring at someone and not saying anything, or turning the other cheek when Altair almost came close to attacking people. 

No Ezio was by far the sanest of his ancestors, which was actually saying a lot. Though of course Desmond didn’t blame them at all. Even Hawk was well over two hundred years old. That much time on this planet was enough to make anyone cracked. At least Ezio wasn’t as volatile as Altair or as withdrawn as Hawk. He was that happy middle ground that let him get away with basically anything from both men (except you know when he’d almost gotten arrested and even Hawk had yelled at him).

“ _We have the Templars and the Order breathing down our necks_ ,” Desmond hissed, Ezio always listened better when you met him in familiarity; like his mother tongue, “ _and now we have to protect an innocent. Excuse me for not being more calm!_ ”

“Don’t start acting like Altair Des, we already got one crazy bastard; don’t need another,” Ezio shrugged.

“Please, I could never be as bad as Altair,” Desmond huffed.

“You lived through him first,” was all Ezio said and pulled another shirt off the rack, “Hmmm,” he held it up under Desmond’s chin again.

“It’s orange Ezio; really?” he asked irritably.

“You’d look terrible in it,” Ezio chuckled with the familiar smirk that seemed to run in the family; even Desmond had it. Ezio shoved the shirt back, “What about pants? I don’t know his size.”

“It’s one bigger than mine,” Desmond sighed, he really hated shopping, especially with Ezio.

“How do you know?” Ezio asked lazily and moved to another rack.

“He let me borrow a pair, they were too big,” Desmond shrugged.

“Why?”

“Because the ones I wore getting the Apple were kinda all messed up and I only had one pair. I got another,” he added.

“Ah,” Ezio nodded. “This then?” he one more shoved a shirt under Desmond’s throat and Desmond allowed himself to be subjected to it.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t do something dumb Ezio,” Desmond sighed.

“I’m a lot older than you kid, even before the whole Apple fiasco; I don’t need you to keep an eye on me,” Ezio said, Desmond frowned slightly. Ezio was right after all. He was stuck at the perpetual age of mid thirties… or was it early forties? Either way the man was much older then him even when he’d been mortal, only Hawk was even roughly the same age at just a little over twenty-five; or so he said. You could never be sure with Hawk since not even he was sure himself.

“Altair told me to,” Desmond scuffed his shoe on the carpet pulling a face.

“Ah, but if he told you to jump off a cliff would you?”

“You tell me to do that all the time and expect me to; so yes!” Desmond cried softly making Ezio laugh.

“A sound point,” another shirt was shoved under Desmond’s chin, “I think this one,” he said. “He’s a bit stocker then you though so-” he trailed off and pulled out a different shirt, same style, from the rack. “Pants now,” he grabbed Desmond’s arm and dragged him around the men’s section. “What size are you then?” he asked. Desmond told him and Ezio picked out an appropriate pair for their little add-on.

“He needs shoes,” Desmond said thoughtfully.

“Size?”

“No idea. Bigger then mine at the least,” he said remembering seeing his shoes next to Jacob’s, they indeed had been bigger.

“Helpful,” Ezio made a face.

“Better then nothing,” he shrugged as Ezio grabbed a pair of boxers off the rack; they had sail boats on them, and they moved to the shoe area. Desmond decided on the size before they collected a pair. “Are we done yet?” Desmond whined, he was so fucking sick of this. He’d rather be back in the motel room arguing with Altair then shopping with Ezio; hell then shopping period.

“One thing,” Desmond didn’t follow this time and just sort of sulked in the main aisle, hands in the pockets of his jeans eyes scanning the surrounding area. A father was buying his daughter new shoes and a pair of teenage girls were giggling over lingerie. He noticed them looking at him but ignored them. His libido had gotten him in enough trouble, no need to get into more for flirting, which was practically second nature; even more so after spending a few weeks in Ezio’s head. Ezio appeared then with a jacket. “Here, do that thing you do,” he thrust the clothes at Desmond. They were all nice and folded into a pile like sandwich meat between his hands.

Desmond tucked the clothing under his arm, looked right at the security camera above him, smiled and stuck his hand into the pocket of his hoodie. In the instant his fingers touched the Apple there he seemed to blink out of sight. Desmond was more than invisible though. He’d stopped existing in that space. If Ezio took a step forward he’d just walk right through him. More things that only worked with him and the Apple. Most could only make themselves and the clothes they wore simply invisible; hidden but still solid and physical. But Desmond could make himself and even things that were not on him simply not be there.

He turned then and Ezio only knew he’d started moving because of the sound of his sneakers on the tile. The automatic doors opened when Ezio stepped near and Desmond slipped through them and only undid his cloak when they were away from the building. Ezio gave him a perplexed look as he continued to walk as if nothing had happened, trying to his his distance between himself and Target quickly.

“What?” Desmond asked turning to look at the ancient man.

“ _Don’t worry kid_ ,” Ezio said.

“ _I’m not a kid Ezio,”_ Desmond growled back.

Ezio barked out a laugh and threw his arm over Desmond’s shoulders, “ _When you’re as old as me you won’t be a kid anymore,_ ” he said giving a Desmond a gentle ribbing.

“ _Then am I allowed to call you an old man?”_ Desmond wasn’t above teasing Ezio right back, heavens knew Ezio still had that elderly complex.

“ _If I’m an old man, than you’re a child,_ ” Ezio growled and his grip tightened on Desmond’s shoulders.

Desmond just sighed, “Here,” he thrust the clothes at Ezio, “You got ‘em you get to carry them,” and he yanked up the hood of his sweatshirt to cover his face. He hated Pittsburgh, it was just like he remembered it too; cold, gray, lackluster and looked about to rain. Uhg. It probably didn’t help he’d lived in the city during the winter months. That had been retarded.

“I thought they were for _tuo amico_ ,” Ezio said raising a brow.

“He’s a tag along,” Desmond snapped. He might have argued with Altair but truthfully he didn’t want Jacob here. He just made life more complicated, not an easy thing to do since his life was already more complicated then he’d ever wanted it to be in his life. But unlike Altair he couldn’t just let Jacob fall to the Templars. If there was even a real chance that his ancestor really was Malik Al-Sayf and not some freakish coincidence (which Desmond truthfully highly doubted) then who knew what sort of shit Abstergo could get out of him. 

Hell, just the fact that he even _knew_ what an Assassin was, had sheltered one at that, was more information then Abstergo was probably used to getting. Assassins were trained to rather die before they talked and if they were put into a situation where it was obvious no one was coming, that they were on their own; they would fight to the death or even take their own lives. For the Order, for the Brotherhood there was no greater cause to keep information away from Abstergo. Thinking about it made Desmond uncomfortable; since he _was_ an Assassin. A rouge Assassin, but he was one born and bred, something very few in the Order could actually claim anymore. Not even Rebecca and Shaun could say that. Not even-

He stopped in the sidewalk and felt his breath hitch in his chest uncomfortably.

“Everything all right Desmond?” Ezio asked concernedly reaching out and clasped Desmond’s shoulder. “Desmond?” he asked again when Desmond didn’t respond.

“Sorry,” Desmond breathed finally, if only to stop the black spots in front of his eyes. “Painful train of thought,” he didn’t even bother to lie. He trusted Altair, Ezio and Hawk with everything. They were the only people in the entire world he trusted anymore, the only ones he could trust.

“What about?” Ezio asked and pulled Desmond to keep walking, it helped; he always thought better when his body had something to do.

“Someone who’s dead now, it doesn’t matter,” Desmond looked away.

“Ah, I know all about those,” for once Ezio sounded his age; old and wise beyond anything Desmond could even understand. “Care to share? Burdens are not so heavy when they are spread.”

“No, not really,” Desmond shook his head and wanted to rip his brain out and delete certain memories that gave him chest pain enough to stop his breathing and make him still even if he’d been in full motion. He rubbed his face. “Lets just get back to the others, see what-

“Desmond, I mean it,” Ezio halted them, but a hand on his shoulder. “Are you really all right? Altair doesn’t just flip out for no reason and you don’t just look like you’ve seen a ghost without one either.”

Desmond frowned slightly, he could tell Ezio. “I… killed someone,” he said.

“I know that. I’ve seen you do it,” Ezio reminded him, Desmond made a face.

“I mean… I let someone die really,” he fixed his wording.

Ezio frowned, “Who?”

“A friend.”

“Again who?”

“Does it matter?” Desmond snapped, “She’s dead now because I fucking stabbed her!” He turned away from Ezio and ran a hand over his face and up into his hair, “Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

“C’mon, lets get back to the others,” Ezio said gently and pulled him into motion once more and Desmond followed after his ancestor meekly withdrawing into the deep hood of his sweatshirt wishing he could just turn invisible. The thought had come totally unbidden earlier, like a punch to the gut. He tried to never think about it because it was still more than a festering wound when he looked inward to examine it. But sometimes it just… slipped, and he said something that made him remember, or thought about her and just momentarily shut down. It was ridiculous and he knew it. He was a fucking Assassin for crying out loud, one on the run, but he was still an Assassin and came from a long line of men and women who were Assassins too.

He muttered under his breath as he followed Ezio, barely paying attention to where he was going. For a brief second he wished he’d just left Jacob back at his apartment since this current train of thought was just pounding him down in a way Altair’s words never could. He’d slept with a guy he’d known for _three days_ , but they…

He ground down hard on the thought with an audible snarl and Ezio glanced back at him but said nothing. “Pay attention Des, bus is coming,” he said looking at Desmond, he just shot Ezio a controlled look and said nothing, head bowed. The bus stopped in front of them and they boarded both passing the coin machine, the bus driver didn’t even seem to see them and Desmond sat heavily in one of the seats, Ezio right beside him as the people behind them fumbled for change or their buss passes. “Talk to me Desmond,” Ezio said softly, his shoulder a comfortable weight on Desmond’s.

“No thanks,” he said softly, “I don’t like thinking about it.”

“You clearly are. This have something to do with that fight between you and Altair?”

“No,” he shook his head slowly.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Ezio reminded him.

Desmond looked at him, “Would you talk about Cristina with me?” and watched Ezio’s face shut down and look away, “Didn’t think so,” he looked away from the other man and they didn’t speak. But it was not an uncomfortable silence. There were few things that hurt Ezio more than people he’d been close to dying. It was why, despite his overall cheerfulness, that he was not particularly close to the others, even Desmond. He kept his distance because Desmond knew he’d been hurt many times before he’d become immortal and did not allow himself the luxury of close companionship that would only tear at his heart and hurt him. 

Finally they arrived at the station they wanted and got off, both of them still quiet. At least Desmond had managed to get his mind back into order and get rid of thoughts that pained him like a physical blow. It was a long walk from the station to the motel but Desmond wasn’t complaining.

Ezio keyed the motel door and shoved it open. Hawk hadn’t seemed to move from his place on the bed, still leaning over his golden glowing lap top, seeming to be in Eagle Vision even though he was not as the light bounced off his golden irises making them seem practically yellow. Altair was stretched across the other bed, still fully dressed; but sleeping.

“You’re back,” Hawk didn’t look up.

“Yep,” Ezio agreed.

“Has he come out?” Desmond asked.

“Hour or so ago. Asked where the hell you were,” he glanced at Desmond, not moving his head. “Haven’t seen him since. Altair fell asleep a few minutes ago; don’t wake him,” he added. They nodded. Altair didn’t sleep much, had everything to do with his paranoia so when he did sleep the three of them did their best to be quiet and not disturb him (lest they get a knife to the gut for trying to wake him).

“Give me those,” he took the clothes from Ezio and went over to the bathroom door as Ezio deposited himself on the bed with Hawk perched upon it. He heard them talking quietly but Desmond ignored them and leaned against the doorframe and knocked.

“Go the fuck away,” Jacob growled.

“Open up,” Desmond said. The door opened, probably only because Desmond was the _only_ thing familiar to the man. He stared at Desmond, dark eyes wide. He’d obviously gotten over his shock and seemed a bit more at ease then earlier that afternoon when he’d locked himself in bathroom, though not much and he’d obviously been running his fingers through his hair erratically because it stood out at every angle like one of those anime heros’. “I brought you some clothes,” he said, “Well, better clothes,” he glanced down at Jacob’s flimsy pajama pants and t-shirt, which he’d worn all the way from New York to Pittsburgh. Desmond had to at least give him credit for that, it wasn’t exactly warm this time of year; even less so with an almost one-hundred mile per hour wind chill to suck the warmth out of his limbs.

“What the hell is going on?” was all Jacob asked.

Desmond sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Just put these on,” he shoved the clothes into his arms. “If you want an explanation you can come out of the damn bathroom,” and he turned away from Jacob who stared after him. The door closed and sat on the bed next to Ezio, after a moment leaned against him feeling tired. “Question.”

“Hmm?” Ezio asked tearing his eyes from the TV.

“How much do we plan on telling him if he wants to know?” he asked.

“As little as possible,” Hawk spoke out. “He isn’t one of us,” Desmond turned to look at him. Hawk simply had _fantastic_ social abilities. “He’s an outsider to us and the Order,” he only then glanced up at Desmond then, “If anything we should wipe his memory and send him on his way.”

“You know we can’t do that Hawk,” Ezio said gently.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t what he _should_ do,” he said firmly.

“I agree. But we _can’t_ ,” even Desmond agreed. It would be so much easier to just do a memory wipe Men In Black style and send him on his way. But it wasn’t a possibility. Jacob was innocent and despite their differences with the Order they were all still Assassins and to allow harm to come to Jacob for their own needs would be to break the Creed considerably. Do not harm the innocent. Do not endanger the Brotherhood. The three elders would never break the Creed willingly, even now, even when they had not been proper members of the Order in… God Desmond didn’t even really know how long.

“Hmm,” Hawk turned away from them only for them all to look when the bathroom door opened. Jacob swallowed as three sets of eyes turned to him.

 


	12. Early Bird

Desmond woke up in a familiar position. He was curled up against someone who very obviously wasn’t asleep, probably never had gone to sleep actually when he thought about it. It wasn’t a surprise though since he’d slept all afternoon and would be up without rest for the better part of the coming rest. He opened one eye blearily. Altair was sitting, propped up on the pillows, staring into nothing like he often did, his left hand resting on Desmond’s head, thumb gently stroking his hair. He probably knew Desmond was awake but didn’t show it, obviously, because he didn’t move until Desmond lifted his head off the pillow and ran the heel of his hand across his eyes ridding them of dried sleep sand. Very obviously the sun had just risen, since the light coming in from the curtains was still muted and rose colored, not the brilliant golden color of more pronounced daylight. On the other bed Ezio was awake, sitting up with terrible bed head; Hawk was still asleep, hugging his pillow to his chest instead of sleeping with it under his head. 

“Morning,” Desmond yawned and looked over the side of the bed, Jacob was still asleep on the floor in a nest of the two duvets and a few blankets and extra pillows Ezio had filched from the laundry last night.

“ _Buongiorno,_ ” Ezio muttered running hands through his hair before moving to start poking Hawk awake.

“Go away Little Eagle,” Hawk groaned against his pillow.

“Get up kid,” Ezio said poking him more.

There was some grumbling and Hawk rolled out of bed, right onto the floor and Desmond snorted. Hawk was probably about as graceful in the morning as Jacob was. At least Hawk didn’t act like a pissed off cat in the morning; he just whined. From the floor he yanked his clothes on over his boxers he slept in while Ezio went into the bathroom not bothering to put on any clothes except what he slept in.

“Yo, Earth to Altair,” Desmond snapped his fingers in front of Altair’s face, he was still in lala land. It was sort of his version of sleeping between times he actually fell asleep. He was still fully conscience but just slowed down and relaxed while still being alert and allowed part of his mind to drift. Altair blinked and turned to him silently, “Have a nice rest?” he asked sarcastically and Altair’s lips curled into a silent smirk. “Lets go get breakfast while these two get their shit together,” he said scooting to the end of the bed and pulling on his own clothes.

Like an ancient machine Altair moved, slow at first before Desmond heard some creaks of bones that probably felt very good as he stood up over Hawk who was still on the floor; lying on his stomach, laptop already open in front of him. “Bring me back donuts,” was all Hawk said not looking up from his screen and gave an annoyed whine when Altair shoved him aside with his foot to get at his shoes. From the bathroom they heard the shower running and Desmond shoved his own feet in his sneakers.

“Yeah yeah,” Altair grumbled at Hawk before going to wait by the door for Desmond who hopped up quickly and grabbed his Apple from the trio on the dresser top. He knew it was _his_ Apple too and not Hawk or Ezio’s. He would never take one of theirs, it was their Apple after all and not Desmond’s. He didn’t know how he knew it was even his; he just knew. More things he didn’t question and just did anyways. “Lets go,” Altair nodded at him and they left.

—

They returned less than an hour later and found both Ezio and Hawk on the floor looking very determined about their task as they tried to out push-up each other. Desmond knew it didn’t matter if Ezio had probably just showered, Hawk had probably said something about Ezio being old; a challenge had been brought up and the two were both to hard headed to not take it. He just rolled his eyes as Altair sat on one of the beds with his coffee actually looking something resembling amused.

“Hawk, brought donuts,” Desmond said.

“In a minute,” the Bostonian said keeping pace with Ezio who was doing the same with him.

“What number are you at?” Altair asked mildly sipping from his cup.

“Two hundred uh… something,” Ezio said glaring at Hawk.

Desmond just rolled his eyes and set the rest of their breakfast on the dresser top along with his Apple and the Apples glowed for a moment when the new one joined their group. He went over to the nest Jacob had made and found him still sleeping, head burrowed in the pillows. He crouched and shook Jacob, “Wake up sleeping beauty,” he said wondering how he’d slept through Ezio and Hawk probably arguing over the circumstances for their dumb challenge, and he knew Jacob wasn’t a heavy sleeper.

“Sleeping,” Jacob muttered.

“Get up,” he said firmly.

“I think I’ll just stay here and never get up thanks,” he said surprisingly lucid. Desmond couldn’t imagine he’d had the best night sleep last night either. They’d told him what he’d needed to know and little beyond that. Enough that he would trust him that they wouldn’t just leave him or kill him and enough so he’d know that without them he was as good as dead. Thankfully Altair hadn’t been in the conversation, he’d been sleeping, so there was no _overly weird_ behavior.

“To bad, you need to get up before one of the others makes you.”

“What time is it?” he grumbled.

“Six fifty,” he said.

“Fuck,” Jacob groaned, “That’s a ridiculous time to get up,” he complained.

“You’ll get used to it,” was all Desmond said and Jacob just continued to grumble before he finally sat up. His hair was about as graceful as Ezio’s was strait out of bed and he looked drunk, face lax to the side and swayed where he sat.

“HA!” Ezio suddenly cheered when there was a thump on the ground. “Fuck you Hawk!” he declared triumphantly and sat up on his knees grinning like an idiot.

“The hell?” Jacob muttered staring.

“What you win on?”

“Three hundred and seven,” he said proudly.

“You guys are so dumb,” Desmond rolled his eyes and stood up, leaving Jacob to pull himself together.

“Who’s the old man now Hawk?” Ezio had ignored Desmond.

“Shut up Little Eagle,” Hawk glared irritably and slunk over to the dresser, snatching a bag from the top and pulling out one of the donuts and shoved it into his mouth.

“Can you believe these two?” Desmond asked Altair who was watching silently, just quietly drinking his coffee.

“Would you believe me if I told you they used to be worse?” he asked eyes flicking to Desmond.

“No.”

“Well they were,” was all he said sipping his coffee. Ezio had found the other bag, this one full of bagels and little pouches of cream cheese and some plastic knives and proceeded to tear into them. Neither Desmond or Altair asked them to share, they’d already eaten.

Desmond sat on the bed and Jacob crawled up next to him, fully dressed but obviously not all the way awake yet despite his moment of lucidness earlier. Hawk grabbed his laptop from the floor and sat it on the bed, his Apple appearing magically in his hand, Desmond had not seen him grab it. Ezio turned on the TV was was busy bothering Altair about the state of his coffee and why it tasted like shit. Apparently there was no milk and sugar in it. Altair just told him to man up and drink the stuff before he did; which silenced further complaints of any sort.

“We should move again soon,” Hawk said after about ten minutes. “Abstergo found some security footage from yesterday,” he sent a look at Desmond, “Someone just ‘blinked’ out of existence-

“You did that in front of a camera Desmond, really?” Altair growled from around Ezio.

“I regret nothing,” Desmond said and motioned to Ezio to throw him the bag of bagels; which he did, and he shoved them at Jacob.

“Yeah well the chatter is that they’re coming here now. The Order hasn’t found out… yet,” he added and glanced up at the three, eyes moving over their little tag-along like he wasn’t even there.

“Yeah but they don’t know where we are,” Ezio reminded them, “They saw us in the city.”

“They saw you in a freaking department store Ezio, of course they don’t know where we are,” Altair rolled his eyes now.

“We should still move, head south,” Hawk said idly. “Been a while since we’ve been south of Missouri.”

“We could just skip country,” Altair said.

“Uhg,” was all Hawk said and crouched over his laptop which was glowing the proper white color instead of golden like last night. Hawk hated traveling by anything that wasn’t on the ground, so boat or plane were a hassle to get him in which was why when they’d found Desmond they’d taken a train.

“What about the Order?” Altair asked.

“They never saw us in New York, they don’t know we’re here; again _yet_. If Abstergo’s chatting about something the Order will find out sure enough, they don’t miss much.”

“Well what’s the Order… chatting about?” Altair said as if the word was foreign to him and Desmond snorted.

“The break in at Abstergo, Little Bird,” he glanced at Desmond, “The fact that he has the Apple, that he escaped before they could get to him in New York. Though apparently they know he’s got a tag-along,” he looked right at Jacob who shifted uncomfortably on the bed next to Desmond. “They still don’t know about us,” he looked away again right back at screen.

“Does Abstergo?”

“I’d blocked out their security camera when you guys went in to get the Apple. The only people who saw your faces were those there.”

“And they’re all dead,” Altair said.

“No one survived?” Desmond asked as he felt Jacob tense next to him.

“If we saw them; we killed them,” Altair said. “No chances,” Desmond just shrugged, he could understand that. 

“It’ll take the Templars a few days to find us then,” Ezio said. “Desmond just has to hide that pretty face of his so the cameras can’t see and we’ll be fine,” and Desmond rolled his eyes when Jacob snorted when Ezio said Desmond had a pretty face. “We can come up with a plan between now and then,” he said.

“I need to do some shopping,” Hawk said not looking up, “I want to make a new box since this thing is a piece of shit,” he glared at his laptop.

“We’ll need another helmet and jacket too,” Desmond mused, “Also; my forks are bent, just a matter of time before they get worse,” he added.

“How’d you do that?” Ezio asked.

“Oh I dunno; probably when I fucked with those Abstergo goons,” Desmond shot back.

“I didn’t see,” Ezio shrugged.

“How long do we have Hawk?” Altair asked tossing his empty coffee cup into the garbage.

“Unless the Templars suddenly turn into Einstein, I’d say three or four days before they get more than just an idea of where we are. But this piece of crap,” he smacked the laptop, “isn’t powerful enough to do what I need it to do to get more sufficient data.”

“Fine, you can build another one; chill out,” Ezio said. Hawk shut the laptop irritably and threw it on the floor. It was normal behavior. Hawk went through a new laptop about once every two weeks after he’d run the old one into the ground and then built a new one from the ground up.

“Desmond,” Jacob asked quietly, the others didn’t notice and he turned to the Arab with a ‘hmm?’. “If you’re supposed to be on the run why does that guy have something that can be traced?”

Desmond smiled, “As if someone could get into a system Hawk made,” he said.

“Oh,” Jacob frowned though and looked away.

“We going to stay here till we figure out what to do?” Desmond looked at the three.

“Don’t have much choice,” Altair said, “C’mon Desmond,” he stood up, “you don’t get to laze about today,” he shot Desmond a look.

“Fine,” he huffed and Altair shoved him out of the hotel room to the courtyard around the back of the place that separated the main office from the rest of the hotel. He was surprised that when he glanced behind him he saw Jacob following after, glancing inside a moment before following.

“Lets hope you didn’t get _slower_ ,” Altair said pushing him forward and he at least had the balance to not trip over his own feet.

“You’re just to fast,” Desmond complained.

“Then be faster,” Altair said as Desmond did a quick few stretches throwing his hoodie onto the tile next to him cause he knew he was about to work up an intense sweat. Altair stood waiting for him, arms folded, of course he didn’t have to stretch. “Ready?” he asked once it was clear Desmond was done and he nodded. “All right then,” and Altair’s hidden blade shot out from under his sleeve crouching in an attack position. Desmond followed suit, eyes flicking over at something in the corner of his eye. Jacob was standing there, watching. Desmond looked forward again with a sigh. Jacob was about to get a front row seat to just why Desmond was always so black and blue.


	13. New Set of Wings

The walk to the dealership was a long one, even after taking the bus more than half way there. The problem was that the buses in Pittsburgh were about as helpful getting to where they wanted to go as just strait walking there. So that was why they had to cover more than a mile on foot; fucking ridiculous as far as Desmond was concerned but in his head he knew he'd walked a lot further as Altair and Ezio. He had to shake his head and remind himself  _he_  hadn't done anything, they were just memories.

"Why do I have to come with you again?" Jacob asked, he was slow and kept lagging behind which just irritated Desmond and made the trip taking even longer. "I mean really? This is practically pointless."

"Save your breath for breathing Jacob, since you're the one making it take so long," was Desmond's reply. He wished he could just start jogging, fuck even running, and get there faster. Desmond was in great shape, even for his age, and could easily run a five minute mile. But no, he was stuck going at Jacob's pace since he couldn't just leave him on his own. He could run, or worse; someone might get him. Both scenarios were bad. Jacob just muttered under his breath but did shut up, which was good because Desmond didn't want to hear him.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the dealership. "Okay, you wait here," Desmond ordered Jacob.

"What? But I thought-

"Jacob," Desmond gave him a look, "Wait here, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Right, fine," Jacob grumbled and folded his arms over his chest in an annoyed manner.

Desmond left him at the entrance and pushed his hand into his pocket, fingers grasping the Apple and he just went invisible, an easy thing to do, all he had to do was bend light in a way that didn't and couldn't be detected by the human eye. It was something he could do without thinking. He knew that like everything about him the act wasn't normal. When he'd lived as Ezio he knew that even Ezio had had to concentrate on what he wanted the Apple to do for it to work and if he lost concentration it would stop working. It was pretty much the reason Rodrigo had almost killed him back at the Vault all those years ago. To many copies to control, to much power to quickly. It had been a strain to his ancestor, a strain which to Desmond was as easy as breathing.

Desmond snaked through the rows of bikes on in the store, ignoring them and going back into the garage where repairs were made and new stock was put before going out onto the show room. He ignored the mechanics and went into the back where said new stock was. If he'd been visible his face would have looked particularly manic with a great grin on his visage. Thankfully no one could see him so no one could mock him when he practically  _skipped_  to one of the machines. It was a Ninja, same as the last one he'd had before. He was about to get it when his eyes caught something else.

"Oh fucking wow," Desmond actually said out loud, leaving the Ninja to look at (if it was possible) an even more beautiful machine. It looked similar to a Ninja (obviously since they were the same brand name) but there was something that just said "superior speed". "What are you?" he asked himself and looked over the bike quickly finding the tags that told him "Z-one-thousand," he said softly, "Baby I think I'm in love," he grinned to himself and quickly left the back lot to the garage. It was pretty much empty except for one guy who was putting a new front tire on an older bike.

After a minute or so of snooping Desmond found a gas line, obviously since you had to be able to drive your bike off the lot somehow, and filled a container with it (all of this was invisible) before going back to the bike and filling it with gas. Now came the actual hard part; getting the damn thing to start. Though hard was a relative term as far as Desmond was concerned and he crouched by the bike taking out a screwdriver and began fiddling with the ignition down by the bottom. He didn't start the bike though, that was just calling unneeded attention to himself, but just unlocked the parking break. Putting his back into it he then grabbed the handlebars, kicked up the kick stand and wheeled it out of the back and the garage back to the street.

Jacob was still waiting for him, sitting on the curb looking bored. Unlike the others Desmond knew he wouldn't run away. He had no where to go really, since he was probably smart enough to know that his apartment had been ripped apart trying to get any information they could.

"Oi!" Desmond called and dropped his invisibility making Jacob jump.

"Warn a guy would you?" Jacob snapped and scrambled to his feet, "What the hell is this?"

"New ride," Desmond said getting down once again with his screwdriver and this time the bike rumbled to life. "Pretty isn't she?"

"I'll admit," Jacob just shrugged trying not to look impressed.

"Get on," Desmond said swinging onto the bike, fuck it was comfortable.

Jacob eyed the small seat behind Desmond before saying, "Why do I have to ride in the back?"

"Because if I remember correctly you're the bitch," Desmond said and Jacob actually had the humility to turn a bit red, "Now get on, we've got places to go," he said sternly. With a sigh Jacob did as Desmond said, one arm going to circle Desmond's waist. "Comfortable princess?" he smirked.

"Shut up Desmond," Jacob growled as Desmond switched the gear of the bike and with a pull of the throttle they shot from the curb like a bullet.


	14. Birdhouse

Desmond hissed and quickly yanked his hand tightly against his chest as a hot, sharp pain ripped across his hand. “Fuck,” he said around clenched teeth doubling over as blood trickled from his fingers.

“Let me see,” Altair was in front of him trying to pry Desmond’s tightly clasped hand away from his chest.

“No, you’ll touch it,” Desmond whined.

Altair rolled his eyes, “Really Desmond, let me see, it cant be that bad.”

“It’s bleeding a lot,” he continued to whine.

“Stop sounding like Hawk, let me see,” he said in a more gentle tone.

“Just don’t touch it, it hurts.”

“Fine, I won’t, now please.” Reluctantly Desmond surrendered his left hand, hidden blade securely locked within it’s sheath, as was Altair’s. Altair took it gingerly and true to his words Altair didn’t touch the new cut on his hand. The one on his torso had finally healed properly and now he had a new one, fucking awesome. “It isn’t that bad,” Altair told him smearing a bit of the obscene amount of blood away so he could see the cut properly. They’d been training again, Altair pushing harder than usual, Desmond had slipped and the tip of Altair’s hidden blade had found the webbing and muscle between Desmond’s thumb and index finger. Fuck it hurt like a bitch. Desmond could barely think.

“Yeah, right,” Desmond said lamely with a moan watching the blood trickle off his hand.

“We’ll have Hawk look at it. I doubt you’ll need stitches,” Altair patted his shoulder fondly.

“Why are you the only one who hurts me in training?” Desmond whined.

Altair gave him a look, “Yes because Ezio almost making you break your leg doesn’t count,” he said.

“Oh right,” Desmond’s mouth became a thin line, he’d forgotten about that since it had been weeks ago. It had been when he’d first started his real training and Ezio had forgotten how fragile mortal bones were compared to his own which had had centuries to become denser from heavy use at what he did for a living.

“C’mon, lets get Hawk’s freak out over with before you bleed all over the place,” Altair sighed and steered Desmond back towards the cabin. They’d moved locations now, left Pittsburgh and were somewhere in Michigan near Lake Michigan, in the middle of fucking nowhere with nothing but pine forests on all sides and the lake about five miles to the west. Here it was safe, for now, but Hawk was always warning them for ‘chatter’ coming from Abstergo and the Order.

“It wasn’t you’re fault,” Desmond said.

“No shit kid,” Altair sent him a smirk, “This was all on you. You need to be faster.”

Desmond groaned, “You’re to fast Altair, I could never be as fast as you,” he frowned and Altair opened the door.

“Hawk, where’s the first aide kit?” Altair barked when they entered.

“Damnit Big Eagle did you hurt him again?” Hawk sent the older assassin a look that could have been annoyed.

“It was my fault, I slipped,” Desmond quickly said and held up his bloody hand.

“Christ, get over here boy before you bleed all over,” Hawk beckoned him quickly and snapped at Jacob to get the first aid kit. Ezio was out getting supplies from the nearby town, the one twenty miles away.

Desmond sat in the chair next to Hawk’s desk who’d gotten a wet towel to clean up Desmond’s fuck up. As he sat to clean it up he shot a glare at Altair, “Really Hawk, it wasn’t his fault,” Desmond said.

“He should still be more careful,” Hawk said looking over Desmond’s shoulder at Altair who was leaning against the wall. Jacob brought the kit and Hawk took it without looking or saying thank you. “He isn’t like us Big Eagle, you can afford to go easy on him,” he reminded Altair digging through the kit and finding the alcohol. Desmond braced himself but couldn’t help the short cry as it touched his wound and he had to struggle not to wrestle from Hawk’s grip. Not that he could have since he knew Hawk’s hand could turn into a vice when it needed to. “Look at this mess,” he sighed looking at Desmond’s cut. “Needs stitches.”

“Fuck me,” Desmond grumbled.

“Be faster next time Desmond,” Altair rumbled from behind him.

“Hey, lay off,” Hawk shot Altair a look from over Desmond’s shoulder his accent butchering some of the pronunciations. “The fact he can even keep up with you is good enough, not even the Little Eagle can match you’re speed when you want to be serious,” Hawk said and pressed a thick bit of gauze against the wound before pulling out the needle and thread for the stitches. Desmond looked at them uncomfortably totally missing what Hawk had said about Altair.

“Do I really need stitches?” he asked after swallowing his tongue.

“See this?” Hawk poked Desmond’s right hand where he’d been cut, Desmond could feel a shift of what was obviously a nerve and muscle bundle under his skin, “he sliced that open. If we leave it it could heal improperly and your grip wouldn’t be as strong. We need our grip and full use of our hands,” he reminded Desmond who nodded without complaint. “If you can’t pull yourself up you’ll fall, can’t have that,” and paused to thread the needle. “Now relax while I do this, I’ll make it quick.” He pulled away the gauze and once more wiped it down with alcohol to which Desmond winced, though did so without a sound, and started to stitch the wound shut.

Less than five minutes later it was done and Hawk ran some ointment along it to protect it as well as help it heal. “I’m guessing training’s over?” he turned in his seat to look at Altair who was lost in the hood of a muted green hoodie, no doubt watching the exchange. He just nodded to the question and Hawk got up to put away the kit. Desmond looked at his new stitches with dislike and slid down in the chair, he didn’t really want to be bothered to move. 

“Oi, if you’re ganna nap do it on a bed,” Hawk poked him in the head and Desmond’s eyes flicked up to look at him briefly before shrugging out of the chair, but he didn’t take one of the bed, one because Jacob was playing solitaire on one since Hawk occupied the desk, and two because they were more uncomfortable then the floor. They were hard pallets and you could feel the wooden supports through them easily making them probably almost as comfortable as sleeping on the floor of the basement back at Monterigioni with-

He stopped the thought before it could fully unravel and sank into one of the piles of blankets and pillows on the worn wooden floor. There were two beds in the little cabin, and two piles on the floor. If anything it was a fight to see who _didn’t_ have to sleep on the beds at night, Altair of course being exempt since he didn’t sleep and when he did he got to do it wherever the fuck he wanted and you weren’t allowed to argue. He pulled off his shirt before wrapping himself in one of the blankets, he was tired from the night before. They’d been out all last night basically, except Jacob who’d they’d left sleeping alone in the cabin, and had played… well basically man hunt in the woods. 

They’d been doing such since they arrived a week ago. Desmond knew it was an exercise to learn stealth and silence, two things he’d become significantly better at in the past week since Desmond was half the time _always_ the hunted. When he wasn’t it was Altair and the three of them coordinated ways to actually find him without him sneaking up on him. Nothing was more terrifying in the world then being hunted by those three either and when they returned a few hours before dawn to get some more sleep Desmond had to fight the urge to look behind him when he left the cabin. It was like trying to hide from a bunch of ghosts that could just appear out of nothing without a sound, and you weren’t allowed to use Eagle Vision (obviously or that would have defeated the purpose since Altair, Ezio and Hawk all lit up like fucking roman candles in the darkness).

“Oi, Stray,” Hawk called from where he was at his desk. Desmond looked at Jacob briefly and saw his face contort in annoyance and anger. Hawk didn’t use real names, not even Hawk was his real name, but to be called simply a stray had to be a blow to the ego. Desmond thought it was a bit unfair. Though he hadn’t exactly had a good experience with such things. He’d ‘adopted’ a stray cat once. Had found it in the street a few weeks later, it had been hit by a car. He didn’t take in strays after that. “Get over here.”

“I have a name thank you,” Jacob snapped.

Hawk continued as if he hadn’t spoken, not unusual when he dealt with Jacob, “I figure you should start being useful if you’re going to be sticking around, instead of just taking up space like you are now,” Desmond sighed softly and thumped down onto the pillows. Oh Hawk, you have such wonderful social skills.

“Okay,” Jacob said sounding uneasy.

“Excellent, now get your ass over here so I can see if you’re good at anything,” he said and Desmond heard the uncomfortable bed and its frame creak as Jacob got up. “Sit,” he ordered. Desmond buried his face in the pillows and didn’t see the rest of the exchange but couldn’t not hear it. “Okay, now then, take a look at this for me,” he tossed something heavy in his hand which Desmond only knew because it made a sound when it connected with his skin.

“I don’t see what this will do-

“He shut up; thank freaking God,” Hawk muttered and Desmond sighed.

“You shouldn’t use that thing like that Hawk,” Altair growled.

“I’m using it for it’s purpose, that’s all-

“He’s an innocent.”

“I’m not _hurting_ _him_ ,” Hawk stressed, “I just want to see a bit into his head, see if he can even _help us_ with anything. I don’t know about you but I’m tired of dragging around and feeding a dead fucking weight. I mean, at least Little Eagle’s useful,” Desmond snorted into his pillow.

“C’mon, he has his uses,” Desmond could hear the amusement in Altair’s voice.

“Exactly. This punk, nothing. He’s just a bump on a log and fuck me sideways if I’m ganna let it go on. So, lets see what he knows.”

“Don’t break the Creed,” Altair reminded gently.

“I won’t,” came the promise and there was silence. Desmond sighed into his pillow tiredly. 

A set of quiet footsteps came towards Desmond and he heard cloth scrape against the wall before a very obvious weight settled down next to Desmond and he opened one eye to peer over the mound of the pillow. Altair was sitting against the wall a foot or so from his head, face lost in his hood, arms resting across bent knees looking like a stone sentinel. After a few seconds of realizing Altair wasn’t going to be moving Desmond buried his head back into the pillows. Oblivion came a few minutes later.

 


	15. Flying the Coop

Someone was shakinghim roughly when he woke. The world blurred before coming into better focus as he blinked away the effects of sleep. Before he could say anything a finger pressed itself to his lips commanding silence. He nodded and they drew away but did not stand, instead staying crouched. Desmond blinked a few more times and realized it wasn’t dark, but the shadows were long outside the windows and between the treetops Desmond could see the sky was gold and pink from the sun which no doubt hung low on the horizon. His eyes quickly darted around the cabin and saw Jacob looked like he’d been shoved up against a wall right next to the door, one that opened inwards and was a bit wide eyed.

Someone tapped on the wooden floor drawing his attention and Desmond looked over to watch Hawk roll his Apple at him. He grabbed it up quickly keeping a tight grip on it before looking at Altair who was in front of him watching the front window. What the hell was going on? He didn’t ask though, he knew better than to speak with the tension in the air so tight that if if could be cut it would have been like a tension wire and whipped back at you. Instead he just followed Altair’s train of sight before everyone in the cabin tensed at the sound of something outside snapping, like a twig and someone’s soft mutter of a curse. It wasn’t Ezio, Ezio would never make the mistake of breaking a twig when he came upon a cabin full of assassins who were ready to tear everything apart.

Wait, where was Ezio? He should have been back by now. The hair on Desmond’s neck and arms stood up on end. He practically jumped out of skin when suddenly someone was whispering into his ear, almost to quiet to hear, “It’s Templars,” he got goosebumps as Altair spoke, “When they blow their cover take Jacob and head to town. Ezio has yet to be compromised, find him and stay low. We’ll come to you.”

“And you guys?” Desmond hissed back.

“We’ll manage,” and he knew that was all he was going to get. Of the four of them he and Jacob were the biggest liabilities. Abstergo wanted Desmond, especially now that they’d stolen their one Apple. They needed him since he’d led them to two Apples he could probably lead them to another. Jacob was an innocent and as a tenant of the Creed he couldn’t be allowed to be harmed if it was preventable. He just nodded at what Altair said and the old assassin slipped away as it progressively got darker outside his dark hoodie blending in with the shadows.

Outside there were a few more noises that were very obviously footfalls. They were getting closer and Desmond heard the near silent sound of hidden blades being ejected from sheaths coming from the direction of his two ancestors who were crouched by the door. 

It was eerily silent inside the cabin and Desmond found he could barely hear himself breathing despite knowing be was indeed doing so. His ears picked up every noise, even the insignificant sound of the leaves of the trees rustling in the wind and the last mournful twitter of a songbird somewhere far off. Nothing moved and they waited into darkness as the sun finally sank unmoving as statues, or maybe gargoyles.

This was probably a bad move for Abstergo. Hunting assassins at night.

Yeah, dumb fucking move.

It wasn’t until total darkness that things began to move. Footsteps outside that echoed inside the cabin like church bells. In the dark normal vision was useless, especially in such deep darkness as the middle of the woods so once the dark had set in those that could used Eagle Vision. Desmond could only imagine what was going on in Jacob’s head right now since he didn’t have this sight, he probably also didn’t know what was going on. It couldn’t be helped though.

A flash, one that stood out like a stop light, caught on the edge of Desmond’s sight and his head turned quickly. There, just _standing_ there in one of the windows was a Templar. He obviously thought the darkness could hide him, to bad for him he stuck out like a sore thumb. He wore something covering his face and it took Desmond a second to realize he was wearing night vision goggles. Awesome.

Timing it with a footfall outside Desmond tapped the floor. He knew the others had heard though they did not turn more than a slight shift of heads, eyes no doubt finding the Templar in the window. Then, so fast it was even a blur to Desmond’s eye, Altair’s hand lashed out and the Templar let out a strangled cry as suddenly he found a throwing knife lodged deeply into his throat and he fell backwards with a crash his gasping painfully loud in the silence.

More red flashed all over the place, the door was booted open and the Templars walked right into the waiting blades of Altair and Hawk who slew them without mercy. Several men climbed in through the window but Desmond ignored them as he scrambled to get his feet underneath him and found Jacob amid the growing chaos of fighting between two assassins and a metric crap load of Templars. “Get up,” Desmond hissed into Jacob’s ear when he got to the man, grabbing his arm with one hand the other tightly clutching the Apple. Jacob didn’t need to be told twice and quickly got to his feet. “Don’t let go of me no matter what,” he said keeping his voice down so he could only just be heard over the din of fighting.

“Okay,” Jacob swallowed and Desmond pulled him along bending the light around them as he did so they were invisible. Since the Templars were using night vision instead of infrared such a technique worked in fooling them and after waiting for an armed Abstergo goon to shove through the door quickly slipped out.

Fuck.

Fuck.

And fuck.

There were Templars _everywhere._ This wasn’t good, no, not at all! No way in hell Hawk and Altair were so good they could take them all on. But maybe they wouldn’t have to. He quickly pushed Jacob in the direction the bikes were hidden before going back the way he’d come. Altair had told him to run. Fine, he would run and find Ezio. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t help. No, not by a long shot.

One Templar suddenly let out a yell as a white robed assassin melted out from the shadows of the trees and like a ghost cut him down, stabbing him strait through the neck. Desmond watched calmly, the Apple glowing in his hand as suddenly there was a preposterous amount of assassins in the midst of this battle, all of them faceless and striking with efficiency. The Templars started dropping like flies and immediately there was chaos. The assassins weren’t real, they were projections made solid by the Apple and while they could very easily kill you because they weren’t real they didn’t reflect light. So if there was nothing to reflect light suddenly those night vision goggles became very very useless. 

Only once he’d done that did Desmond run and found Jacob back at the bikes trembling just slightly. It was obvious he was afraid. Fuck Desmond would have been afraid too. Or he would have if he didn’t have to keep his head together right now. He’d have a chance to be afraid once he was safe. At least he was already in his jacket and helmet, waiting for Desmond and probably hoping he didn’t get killed. 

Desmond grabbed his own jacket and pulled it on over his naked chest, fuck he’d forgotten his shirt. But it was a distant thought, to be mulled over later when he had the time to do more than react. The black full face helmet followed and he got onto the Z1000, and it started with a seducing growl.

“Lets go,” Desmond told Jacob who without complaint climbed on behind him. Desmond snapped his visor down and put the bike in gear. He took it slow to the main road to not draw attention on the glorified trail that led up to the cabin. Only once on pavement did he quickly shift the bike up to third gear and had it screaming down the asphalt the speed quickly smashing over a hundred and fifty miles per hour. Jacob held tightly to Desmond’s waist till he knocked his elbow back when the pressure got to be to much and Jacob slackened his grip.

The town came into view a few minutes later and Desmond slowed, it practically felt like a crawl after such speed. The place was quiet, not unusually since the town barely qualified as a spot on a map, but the restaurant was still open. That was where he parked the bike and let Jacob get off before following suit.

“What are we doing here?” Jacob asked taking off his helmet as Desmond turned off the bike.

“Rule is that if there is ever trouble we meet at a restaurant. Places like this are usually crowded, or at least have multiple exits,” Desmond said after yanking his own helmet off.

“You didn’t do that when I met you,” Jacob said.

“And I got chewed out for it thanks,” Desmond rolled his eyes and made his way into the building. It was Friday and probably only about seven; the place was busy.

“Two?” asked the hostess as they walked in and up to the podium.

“Actually I was wondering if our party is already here,” Desmond said quickly trying to see if he could spot Ezio.

“Can I ask who it is?”

“Older man, Italian, brown hair, charming, probably came in with bike gear,” Desmond lifted his helmet to indicate.

“Oh, _him_ ,” she said and not in a bad way. Desmond rolled his eyes. Ezio couldn’t go anywhere without charming everything with a nice set of legs. “I assume he’s expecting you?” Desmond nodded and she led them to the table where indeed Ezio was waiting.

“There you two are,” Ezio said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world they would be showing up for dinner. Desmond slid into the chair next to him, Jacob took the opposite. When he proceeded to ignore the hostess she left looking a bit miffed. “What happened?” he turned to Desmond as he asked.

“Did they tell you anything?”

“Just that the hideout had been compromised,” he said and Desmond nodded.

“At least fifty men,” Desmond said softly, “maybe more, I couldn’t get a good count since they just seemed to be _everywhere_. Altair and Hawk stayed behind to hold them off but…”

“They’ll be fine.”

“I helped a bit. Gave them some phantoms to fight.”

“Nasty,” Ezio shook his head approvingly.

“They thought they’d walked into a trap.”

Ezio laughed at that, “They did,” he smirked, “because they decided to attack a place Altair was residing in.”

The conversation stopped when the waiter came by with a plate of food for Ezio and upon seeing Desmond and Jacob asked if he could get them anything. Desmond picked something at random, the first thing that was very obviously meat. Jacob, who apparently had looked over the menu after being left out of the little exchange ordered with a bit more precision.

After that they didn’t talk about the fact that their location had been compromised. In fact it was the last thing discussed. If anything Ezio couldn’t stop teasing Desmond about forgetting his shirt back at the hideout and now he’d be stuck in that leather jacket until they found a town that was big enough to have an honest to god retail store. He looked over Desmond’s stitches, especially since he’d managed to mangle them a bit during the ride, but said they’d be fine as long as he didn’t put to much strain on his hand. Eating was in turn a torture because of it and he couldn’t hold the fucking fork properly when he tried to cut his food and almost threw the useless utensil at the nearest window before Ezio just humiliated him by cutting it for him. Of course got him mocked by Jacob who was joined by Ezio and Desmond proclaimed he hated them both and they could kindly go to fucking hell.

An hour later the hostess appeared at their table again asking if they knew the two men with her. Ezio, of course, told them to sit down and eat since they looked like ghosts and the hostess left. No one spoke about where they’d come from. They didn’t need to. Both Altair and Hawk were alive, that meant everyone else was dead. Though they were alive though didn’t mean without injury and at one point Hawk had to excuse himself when he’d started to spot blood showing up on his shirt.

Once the bill had been paid (with a credit card attached to a hacked bank account of some multi billionaire) they left the restaurant some time around ten. “Where are we going now?” Jacob asked when they stood around the cluster of bikes that shared two spaces.

“We need to skip country,” Altair said. Hawk groaned but didn’t complain otherwise. “You got a passport?”

“Well I _did_ ,” Jacob growled.

“He can have one of Desmond’s,” Hawk put in, “I’ll just change the photo, won’t be to hard,” and Altair nodded. “Where are we going?”

There was a long moment of silence except for a prolonged ‘hmmmmm’ before he said, “How’s Sydney sound?”

Desmond smirked, “Sounds sweet to me.”

“We can catch a flight out of Grand Rapids,” Altair said naming the closest city that made international flights. “Hop around the Pacific Rim for a few hours make it harder to maintain the tail, we can lose them in Australia.”

“I hate planes,” Hawk muttered.

“Suck it up Hawk,” Altair growled, “We need to get out of here before they send backup, or worse _real_ Assassins show up,” he gave Desmond a look, almost appreciative. “Last thing we need is to be forced to kill our brothers,” the others nodded. “We’re all agreed? Hawks hatred of planes notwithstanding,” silence was his answer, “Any questions?”

“Can we fly first class?” Desmond asked. Hawk snorted.


	16. Awing

Planes were intensely boring Desmond decided, not for the first time either. He’d rather be beat up by Altair then be cooped up in a flying metal tube for as long as they were. It was actually rather obscene and with all the layovers and plane changes (all to fool Abstergo and the Order) it took them over fifty hours before they were really on a plane to Sydney. None of them had any luggage except for a bag of spare clothes, Hawk’s computer and the bag Desmond had smuggled on board full of their blades. It had been easy since he’d just made it vanish. He felt a bit like a zombie as he watched the sun sink towards the arc of the world, next to him Altair was sitting slumped in his seat sleeping, he’d been sleeping for about five hours  now, the better portion of time of the flight from Tokyo to Sydney. Desmond had fallen asleep at some point but he didn’t feel safe on planes and could never quite get asleep.

Across the aisle Hawk was out like a light. He’d chugged a bottle of Nyquil as soon as they’d boarded and had slept through the entire trip. He’d actually slept through all the plane rides lasting more than an hour. He had to be addicted to Nyquil by now from how much of it he’d drunk. Desmond didn’t hold it against him though, if Desmond was uncomfortable with planes Hawk was positively _petrified_ of them. He didn’t show it externally but the mere fact that he was unconscience was enough to show he wasn’t enjoying himself. Ezio was staring at the small TV on the back of the chair in front of him watching… something. Desmond didn’t know, he wasn’t paying attention to the on flight movie.

Jacob was in the seat in front of him and practically laying across the two first class seats. Like the rest of them (minus Hawk) he’d slept very little in the past two days and along with jet lag, and flight travel his body had finally exhausted himself and he was coiled under a blanket sleeping against some pillows the stewardess had brought him.

Desmond knew he should get some sleep, he had only caught about three hours this entire trip. But his body wouldn’t let him. He was to anxious on planes to sleep so he just sighed and leaned back in the comfortable first class seat. Next to him Altair grumbled and shifted in his seat, turning his sleeping face towards Desmond. Desmond just watched him for nothing better to do and after a few minutes realized he was having a nightmare. He frowned and thought about waking him but knew it was a bad idea. Altair needed sleep, even if it was through a nightmare. Besides it was never a good idea to force a sleeping assassin to wake, they tended to act first, think later and he’d seen the bruise on Ezio’s neck from the time he’d tried to wake Altair and Desmond hadn’t been there. Altair had almost snapped the Italian’s neck before he’d fully woken. No best to just let him sleep, he’d wake on his own.

There was something that could be said about planes though. They had the best view of the setting sun. It was gorgeous actually, the sun was a red drop of blood on corn silk colored clouds. The few clouds that remained above the plane were purple bruises against a fading cerulean sky. He watched the last of the sun sink, resting his face on his fist unable to take his eyes away. As it vanished behind the rim of the world there was a brief flash of green and he grinned to himself. He’d never witnessed a green flash and was glad he had if for no reason then that when he’d left the Farm he’d promised himself that he’d experience everything in the world he could. Slowly the sun’s afterglow faded from view and the sky above turned black; the stars were out.

“Woah,” he breathed and shoved his face against the porthole window. There was one thing that could be said about the Farm and that was that no where else he’d ever lived had the stars ever been as bright anywhere else as they were there. They’d just stretched on into infinity across plains and prairie and the farm land around the compound. This though, this was something else entirely. This was above most of the atmosphere and it was hard to describe just how amazing it was.

He stayed pressed up to the window until he saw the continent of Australia shimmer into view beneath the plane. The coast glowed with a million specks of light and for a moment the sky was reflected on the Earth. He grinned. What a miracle the big world was, and though it was as dangerous as his instructors and parents had always threatened it would be he wouldn’t change his experience for the world or take it back. He just wanted to breath in everything and experience it all. Nothing was going to stop him, not the Order, not Abstergo and not those stupid Those Who Came Before. This was his world and he was going to live in it so help him.

Next to him Altair shifted again, his breathing changed and he woke. “Desmond?” he asked and the younger man turned to him, he was squinting in the dim cabin light, reaching out and grabbing his arm.

“You all right?” he asked raising his brows, he almost looked panicked.

“Now I am,” he nodded slowly, the look fading. “What were you doing?”

Desmond glanced back outside where the black sky eventually met the sea and was reflected not on the mirror of the water but the unyielding earth. “Just looking at the stars,” he turned back to say.

“That’s nice,” and Altair’s eyelids drooped, he sagged but didn’t let Desmond go but when he fell back asleep his grip did loosen and his body slumped toward Desmond his forehead finding Desmond’s shoulder.

Desmond’s eyes flicked up as he felt someone looking at him and saw Jacob’s dark eye staring at them from between the two seats. Desmond matched his look and after a few seconds Jacob looked away and moved his head so he could no longer see. 

Desmond adjusted his arm so that Altair still held it but so that it was more comfortable and with a mutter the head moved on his sleeve to find a more comfortable position on the muscle and bone, the hand that held his arm sliding down to gently grip his wrist. Sighing to himself Desmond leaned back in his chair, looking out the window for a while until the stars on the ground had vanished and he told himself it would be better if he got some sleep. He didn’t remember finally falling asleep, leaning against Altair as much as he leaned against Desmond.


	17. Sand Terns

Desmond grinned as he ran, bare feet kicking up sand that went flying like wings from his heels. In front of him the ocean crashed against the shore. Five seconds later he was knee deep in the surf. He’d been in oceans on all three coasts of the states: Atlantic, Pacific, and Gulf, but this was the first time he’d ever swum in the water off another continent. It was pretty awesome actually as the breakers struck him across the chest almost toppling him over. Then he got out further where it wasn’t so shallow and the waves simply rocked him.

“DESMOND YOU IDIOT!” he glanced back when he heard Hawk yelling at him from the porch. Next to him Ezio was standing, hand on his shoulder looking amused. Desmond just waved and turned back, diving under the water.

When he came up Hawk and Ezio were gone from the porch but he saw Jacob coming out onto the beach. He had a terrible farmer’s tan actually though this was the first time he’d ever noticed. He’d been a bit… preoccupied last time the Arab had been around him without a shirt on. Regardless he turned away putting his hands out in front of him before swimming out, away from the shore, his arms cutting through the water like a knife. He didn’t stop till he couldn’t touch the ground anymore. He twisted around, panting, treading water as he did so. The shore was a significant distance away by now and he could see the others like stick figures. He could see Altair, sitting on the beach and somehow knew the old assassin was looking right at him. Ezio and Jacob were black bobble heads in the waves and Hawk was no where to be found. Probably in the house.

They’d been in Australia for almost a week now. Sydney had been nice, wicked hot, but nice. They hadn’t stayed long, a day or two before Hawk insisted they find someplace to hide where they wouldn’t be found. Desmond had asked for someplace nice, for once, he wanted to go to a beach in Australia. Hawk was having none of it. He wanted to go hide in the bush, a desert. Desmond had his fair share of deserts after living through Altair’s memories.

Of all people Altair had sided with him. He’d expected Ezio to agree with him on this. Get a little fun in the sun so to speak. But Ezio had been hesitant. Finally it had escalated into what Desmond could only refer to as an Alpha-off. It wasn’t a secret his ancestors were all top dogs of their time and didn’t like being bossed around. Ezio didn’t mind following Altair because he was a fanboy, but Hawk… Hawk was another story and seriously messed in the head thanks to what the Apple did to him. He didn’t have fear and didn’t back down to challenges or opponents. He was as stubborn as the other two, maybe even more so. So he and Altair had gone at it, bickering for about half an hour till Altair had _yelled_ at him. Yelled at Hawk, and Altair didn’t yell, at least Desmond had never heard him, except that one time Desmond had had the _stupid_ idea to mention Malik around Altair. Desmond didn’t know what Altair had said, there had been a door between him, Ezio and Jacob and Altair and Hawk. After that the conversation had been over and there hadn’t been a peep out of Hawk edgewise. 

Seven hours later he’d found a house on the southern shore of the Australian continent. It was one of those summer homes so the owners weren’t home and the place was empty. It was on a remote strip of land too, closest house was five miles away, with a beach front. It was heaven on earth as far as Desmond was concerned. Far away from the rest of the world, peaceful, and it had a killer view, beach included. It had been a twenty hour ride by bike to a town barely a dot on the map called Eden, from there it had been a much shorter trip to the house.

It was easy to lose track of time out in the middle of the water. The sun had been rising when he’d first entered but by the time he was finally swimming back to shore the sun was almost at its apex. “You look happy,” Ezio said when he finally dragged himself out of the surf, panting, tired and grinning like a moron. He and Altair were sitting on the beach still, Ezio in a pair of swim trunks and Altair in regular clothes, just a lot less to help combat the heat.

“Water baby man, water baby,” Desmond said collapsing down next to his ancestors.

“You’re all pruny,” Altair said dryly as Desmond lay back on the hot sand.

“Where’s Jacob?”

“Inside with Hawk,” Ezio answered for him. Altair seemed to want as little to do with Jacob as possible. Not that Desmond blamed him.

“They playing nice?”

“Haven’t heard any yelling or screaming, so I assume so,” Ezio smirked, Altair’s just rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Desmond huffed. “What’re they doing?”

“Apple,” was all Ezio said.

“Ezio,” Altair sent him a look.

“What?”

“Apple? Don’t tell me Hawk is using the Apple on Jacob,” Desmond sat up sharply.

“It’s fine Desmond, really. No one knows more about the Apple than Hawk, he wont hurt Jacob,” Ezio told him reassuringly. “He’s had his for… what two hundred years?” he looked at Altair for confirmation who nodded with a shrug, approximately. “You use yours… better, but-

“Hawk can do stuff I haven’t been able to, not yet anyways. I know,” Desmond rolled his eyes. “I’m very aware of my limits thanks.”

“So don’t worry about Jacob. I mean the worst Hawk’ll do is call him a Stray.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use the Apples against innocents. First tenant,” he eyed them.

“Jacob isn’t an innocent anymore,” Altair said not looking at Desmond but out at the horizon. “He’s one of us, really. Hawk saw into his genetic memories.”

“ _He who you think he is?_ ” Desmond looked over at Altair speaking in Arabic.

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” Altair sighed.

“ _Sorry_.”

“ _Yeah, me too,_ ” he muttered.

“Anyways,” Ezio said noting the sort of awkward sort of angsty tones. “Hawk’s seeing if he’s good for anything. Maybe he can be helpful.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this _before now_?” Desmond demanded.

“Need to know basis,” Altair said simply.

“I think I would need to know you were using the Apple on him.”

“It isn’t hurting him.”

“Genetic memories and seeing what he’s good at,” Desmond said, “Sounds like what the Assassins were having me do. Bleeding effect.”

“Nope,” Ezio said. “That was with that stupid Animus crap. Incomplete attempts to do what Pieces of Eden were made for, controlling people and learning,” he looked over at Desmond who was just sitting quietly. “The Apple doesn’t allow for Bleeding. Not in Hawk’s hands at least.”

“So just poking around his head then?”

“A bit. A lot nicer than the Templars would do.”

“Anyone else in his past then?”

Ezio shrugged, “Not important. Not really. Hawk wants some medical expertise.”

“I thought he-

“Hawk ain’t no doctor. He’s using the Apple as training really, and not to much poking, not how you’re thinking. It’d be nice to have a real doc around and not just us. I mean someone who knew what they were doing gave you what you needed after we stole the third Apple back in New York. And since we can’t go to hospitals-

“Think of it as life insurance,” Altair said. “It will definitely come in handy.”

“You sound so sure,” Desmond said.

“Trust me, we’ve broken enough bones and gotten enough scrapes to know its helpful to have a doctor around. In this age with guns especially. It isn’t fun to take bullets out of your body by yourself.”

“Ouch,” Desmond winced.

“Understatement,” Ezio claimed. “So?”

“So what?”

“Still got your panties in a twist?”

“Even if I did you would still do it. So no, I’m not,” he said and swatted at his back dusting off the now dry sand. “I’m not a kid, you guys can tell me stuff.”

They both turned and looked at him disbelievingly, “Right, not a kid,” Ezio said giving him a look.

“You know what I mean,” Desmond bristled with flustered look on his face.

“You’re still just a kid Des,” Ezio said and clapped him on the shoulder. “Like our little brother,” he smiled at him.

“Yeah, like a brother,” Altair said looking at the ocean again speaking as if to himself.

—

Sand sucked. Just strait sucked. It was hard to keep your balance in, got into _everywhere_ and everything. Even places Desmond didn’t know he had. It also hurt a hell of a lot when he just shoved into it. Which happened a lot. His skin was almost one continuous sand rash from training and he constantly felt like he was floating or rocking. It was cause of the sand and the sea, like he had constant sea legs. It was real fun. Especially to train with.

Which was exactly what he’d been doing. They’d been in the house near Eden for about two weeks, training. Once or twice they’d left the place but other than that, nothing. At least it wasn’t Monterggioni, a place that was safe but was practically painful to be in. To many memories there that’s weren’t his. He’d thought for a while he was going mad from being in that place. At least Australia didn’t have that sort of baggage.

Desmond sat on the sand without a shirt looking amused. If Desmond hated training on the sand then Jacob was positively miserable. It had been decided after he’d gone through some brain training that the Arab couldn’t be a liability if one of them wasn’t simply there. Altair didn’t like it, but that made it more amusing to Desmond really. The guy wasn’t exactly lazy or flabby but he wasn’t in fighting shape either. He was soft. He also got thrown on his ass _a lot._ It was actually kind of nice to be able to beat someone, for once, since the others never let Desmond win.

Jacob was also anything but a fighter. It was like watching rubber put up a fight against a knife. At least Desmond could stand up to Altair, Jacob, not so much. But then Desmond was an Assassin, born and bred and trained. Jacob was just some kid from Queens he’d met at a coffee shop, no training, no experience, nothing.

“Get up,” Altair said standing over Jacob’s prone body on the sand. Like Desmond they were just wearing trunks. Jacob didn’t have a farmer’s tan anymore either, just smooth dark brown skin; skin covered in pale sand at the moment from after Altair had thrown him to the ground.

“Why don’t you beat Desmond up for a while?” he groaned.

“Why when he’s got you?” Desmond jeered from the sidelines.

“Well, unlike you, Desmond can fight, novice. You, however, can’t,” Altair actually smirked. It was almost a smile. Since when did Altair have any positive emotions about Jacob? “And you,” he pointed at Desmond, “don’t flap your lips. Laps around the house, fifty of them, go. Now,” he added when Desmond gave him a look. 

With a sigh Desmond rocked to his feet, dusting sand off his ass and legs. “Yes, sir,” he grumbled and set off towards the house at a jog. He looked back as he did so and saw Jacob pushing himself up out of the sand and facing Altair.


	18. Thunderbird

Desmond found Hawk sitting out on the window covered porch as rain slaped against it with a fury Desmond had only seen in the South Eastern portion of the United States. It’d been raining every day now for a few days at least, not continuously, but long enough each day so that it might as well have been. Every time it rained Hawk folded away from the others and vanished till after the rain had stopped. He asked the others about it but Altair and Ezio just told him not to worry.

Not to worry they said.

Like that would happen.

It’s practically in Desmond’s genetic code to worry and they should know this since they’re bigger worries than he is.

Finally on the third day he’d found Hawk. The porch was on the forth floor (it’s a big house) and he’s sitting in a white wicker chair watching the rain. This entire part of the room is made of glass and steel and in the distance he can see lightning strike the ocean followed quickly by thunder meaning that it really wasn’t that far away and the storm is right over them. He saw Hawk’s Apple off to his left on the floor as if he’d dropped it and let it roll there. Desmond thought that was odd since Hawk takes impeccable care of his Apple, like it’s something precious to him.

“Hawk,” his voice is half lost in the thunder.

Hawk heard anyway and turned around in his chair, “Hey kid,” he said in his usual perfectly cheerful disposition a bit of his brown hair slanting across his eyes and he rudely slicked it back. Desmond noted his hair is ragged, as if he’d run his fingers through it over and over again, especially since Hawk never pushes his hair back like that. He prefers it behind the ears where the slight curl of it wraps around his earlobe.

“What’re you doing up here?” Desmond took a few steps forward after closing the door behind him, light flickers and there’s another lightning bolt racing down to the ocean like a jagged crack in the sky. Thunder roars a second later and makes the glass rattle just a bit.

“Nothin’ just enjoying the rain is all,” and Desmond knows it’s a half truth as the Bostonian turned away and looked back out the window. “What is it?” he asked when Desmond doesn’t leave or speak again.

“You never call me ‘kid’,” he reminded Hawk walking over to him and scooping up the Apple as he does. “Always Little Bird, what’s up with that?” Hawk’s only reply is silence. “Here,” and he dropped the Apple into his lap. Hawk doesn’t pick it up and that worried Desmond. Instead the older man just uses his finger to gently prod it off his lap and it drops off his knee. “Is everything all right?”

“Perfect,” Hawk answered and leaned back in the wicker chair, his head tipped back just slightly catching the next perfect flash of light across the sky.

“Altair and Ezio told me not to worry-

That make Hawk snort, than laugh, “Hypocrites,” he grumbled with a grin. He looked up at Desmond, “They’re ones’ to talk aren’t they?” he asked him.

“Yeah,” Desmond didn’t do anything but agree.

“Sit if you want,” Hawk says and Desmond slowly folds himself to the floor next to his ancestor and gently reaches across the floor to pick up the Apple. It is strangely inert in his hand. His always throbs when he picks it up, and even Ezio’s reacts to his touch. But not Hawk’s, it is cold and silent in his palm. Ahead and above them there is more thunder and lightning and when Desmond looks over at Hawk his face is flat and his eyes slowly trace the thick splatters of rain against windows that come with each gust of wind.

“Hey Hawk,” Desmond asks after an untold amount of time where between Hawk’s last words and his new ones there is just the rain and the thunder and lightning and their breathing as Desmond rolls the silent Apple between his fingers. Hawk just grunts in acknowledgment. “How come-” he licks his lips suddenly feeling like he might be prying but finishes anyway. “How come your Apple doesn’t react to me?”

Hawk looked over at him and held out a hand. Desmond obediently dropped the Apple into his waiting hand. Immediately it glows and Desmond can hear it’s resonance in his mind, it’s soft song like silk over skin. The song is familiar, he hears it whenever he holds his own, or they come in contact with another Apple, or another Piece (so they’ve told him at least, he’s never heard it though), yet it’s different from his too, it sounds calmer, deeper. Then it is quiet again, the glow fading as quickly as it began. “Because it is mine, and no one else’s,” is Hawk’s only answer. “It won’t work for anyone else,” and he turns back to the windows to catch a two bolts jolt across the sky skipping stones.

Desmond frowns at that and mulls over what the older man said in his head, tossing it back and forth like he had just the Apple. “What about Ezio’s Apple? It works for me,” Desmond said, “It works for you too.”

He watches Hawk slump into his wicker chair with a sigh, “It’s… complicated Little Bird. A story for another time, not now,” he shakes his head slowly and for the first time he sees that Hawk is tired. He’s seen Altair be tired, that sort of bone weariness like his shoulders can barely support his neck, only for moments at a time before he eventually collapses into sleep where whatever demons plague his waking thoughts can no longer get to him. Ezio as well, the tiredness flashing in his eyes when he stares into a cup of coffee that bleeding heart of his practically dripping all over the table. He’s seen them before in reflections of mirrors and water and pieces of silver, through their eyes, and more recently through his own eyes. But this is the first time he’s seen this look in Hawk. He looks at the rain with something unfathomable etched across his face.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Hawk, but my life is nothing but complications,” and for a brief second Hawk smirks.

“Yes, yes it is,” he looked back at Desmond. “But you already carry enough burdens, no need for me to add mine when you’ve already got Altair and Ezio to deal with. One life time is enough of a strain on anyone, let alone three,” making Desmond look down, seeing the wisdom in those words. Sometimes he forgets his ancestors are so old, for they act so with it, young and full of vigor, and then they say or do things that remind him that they aren’t from his century, or even his millennia and they become old and wise like the grandfathers Desmond never met.

“Tell me this than at least,” Desmond said and scrambled to his knees to perch crossed arms across the arm of the wicker chair. Hawk just appraised him with level brown eyes, waiting silently. “Why do you disappear whenever it rains?”

Hawk smirked at him, the family smirk that even Desmond has. No matter how many generations pass it seems they can’t get rid of the damn thing because they all have it and Jacob’s said once that it freaked him out when they’re all together conniving about something and smirking like that. People shouldn’t be allowed to look so similar he claimed. “Brings back memories,” Hawk finally said.

“Good or bad?” Desmond rested his chin on his arms eyes focused on his ancestor’s face.

Hawk pondered that, “Hmmm, now that’s a good question,” he finally admitted. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Any specific memory?” Desmond felt himself ask before able to stop himself.

“Yes,” he says and that sadness, bitterness, and anger, flashed briefly across the back of his eyes. “It was the night I first claimed the Apple.”

“After that fight with the Templars?”

“Yes,” he nodded slowly. “It was raining like it is now. Pouring, lightning and thundering. It called to me and I went,” he frowned. “It’s a pinpoint memory, we all have them, the moment we become more than simply human.”

“Really?” Desmond didn’t know that. “Do you know what the others’ is?”

“I do,” he nodded slowly, “but you’ll have to ask them yourself. It isn’t my place to give away secrets.”

“Well very little is secret about Ezio to me,” Desmond pointed out.

Hawk snorted, “That man is a stubborn old ox isn’t he?” and Desmond nodded with a grin.

“I was honestly surprised it took him so long,” Desmond joked trying to put a sting of humor into the conversation which he felt was still a little too gloomy for his liking. He was good at that after all, injecting humor, smoothing over rough edges and making someone open up to him. It had been his _job_ for years he better have been fucking good at it. “I mean considering he wasn’t exactly the most celibate guy,” Hawk snorted at that.

“No, no he was not,” Hawk agreed whole heartedly. “I was surprised I didn’t have more cousins when I found out, just so you know,” he hummed after he spoke.

Desmond grinned at that, “When did he tell you?”

“I was celebrating my fiftieth birthday I believe, back when I cared about birthdays. They seemed so…

“Normal?” Desmond supplied for him.

“Indeed they did,” Hawk said and again there was that bitterness behind his eyes though Desmond didn’t know why. At least Altair and Ezio were easy to read, he’d been in their heads, he knew them, more intimately than any man or woman they’d ever taken to their beds. He didn’t know Hawk like that though, he only knew what Hawk told him, and while he knew the man would never _lie_ to him he knew that sometimes he also only told half truths. Because of that Desmond always knew what the other two were thinking he he wanted to, if he looked hard enough, Hawk was a comparably a stranger to him in that sort of light.

“Don’t celebrate anymore do you.”

“No.”

“Do you even remember the date?”

Hawk thought about, “Perhaps if it was required, yes I could come up with the date. Too much… everything else to worry about though,” and he sort of waved his fingers around his head to indicate a mess within his own mind.

“The Templars,” Desmond observed.

“And Those Who Came Before,” and something hot and tight clenched in Desmond’s stomach and memories he didn’t want to have roared through his mind and made him close his eyes as Juno’s voice echoed through it like a gong. He was still just on his knees by the chair but he could feel the warm sensation as blood that wasn’t his dribble down his fingers and palm before finally dripping off his wrist. “Desmond?” Hawk grabbed his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he opened his eyes and saw Hawk’s brown eyes, they coursed with concern and worry. Yeah, another trait that needlessly ran in the family.

“Okay,” Hawk nodded. “Storm’s dying,” he notted and indeed the rain had slacked off a great deal. They could see not lightning, nor hear thunder, and the storm was now just rain, pattering against the windows.

“Shit,” Desmond said suddenly.

“What?”

“Altair said that when the storm was over I had training,” and he was getting to his feet. “Well more like I get to demonstrate how to not be totally useless to Jacob,” and he pulled a face making Hawk laugh even as the rain reduced itself from a patter to a whisper. “I’ll see you for dinner,” he said quickly.

“Yeah,” Hawk agreed with a nod and Desmond left, the door settling quiet behind him.


	19. The Sword and the King of Birds

Desmond popped his head up from the bed when someone knocked on his door. It was late, very late, but Desmond had always been a light sleeper. He didn’t worry that it was someone to kill him since no agent of Abstergo would _knock_ before entering. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm tiredly and slid off the bed. Stumbling only slightly he went to the door and opened it surprised by who it was.

“Jacob?” he asked confused.

“I need to talk to you,” Jacob said.

“Now?” he ran a hand through his hair disheveling it further. “Its like three in the morning,” he groaned. “Can’t it wait till morning?”

“No. I don’t want the others to hear,” he said.

Desmond sighed, “Fine,” and he held the door open and turned on the light only closing the door about half way. When he turned back around Jacob was sitting on his bed. He looked uneasy, not exactly afraid, but definitely not calm.

Desmond’s brow furrowed, “What’s the matter?” he asked and sat down next to him.

“Who’s Malik?” he asked.

Desmond stared at him, “What?” he said in surprise.

“Who’s Malik?” he repeated.

“… Where did you hear that name?” Desmond asked quietly and looked towards the door as if expecting Altair to suddenly appear.

“Does it matter? Who is he?” Jacob demanded.

“What makes you think I know?” he asked still reeling from hearing that name from Jacob’s mouth. Bad enough he’d had a cat named Kadar, but now Malik? He hoped Altair didn’t hear him speak that name, he might lose it. He already barely tolerated Jacob as it was, enjoyed throwing him to the ground and grinding him into the dirt. It was perhaps the one thing Altair liked about Jacob and Desmond saw the slight hint of delight in Altair’s eyes when he got to call Jacob novice.

“You know everything about these three. Surely you would know,” Jacob said.

“Not _everything_ ,” Desmond said. He truthfully only knew so much about Altair but quite a lot about Ezio and practically nothing about Hawk. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked.

“Altair,” he said blinking at him.

“What?” How could Altair slip, “How?”

Jacob bit his lower lip before reaching over to his left shoulder and working his fingers across the bicep where there was a large raised scar. He’d seen it enough time training that he thought nothing of it, but it was a massive scar and looked like it could have made him lose his arm. Jacob, it seemed however, was luckier then his late great ancestor in that he did not lose his arm. When he was nervous he tended to work at the scar like an apprehensive tell. “He wasn’t at breakfast this morning remember?” he finally said and Desmond nodded slowly. “I went to look for him, Ezio told me to go find him, for training. He was sleeping.”

“Don’t tell me you tried to wake him,” Desmond said frowning. 

“I did,” he admitted.

“And he didn’t kill you?” Desmond was more amazed then anything that Jacob wasn’t dead. Altair did not think when he first woke, he acted and struck with lethal prejudice. Jacob shook his head, “What did he do then?”

“Well he just… woke up.”

“He didn’t attack you?”

“No. But he asked me what I was doing there. Well, more like what was Malik doing there,” he said.

“Calmly?”

“Yes calmly! I just said he didn’t attack me,” Jacob snarled at him in a way that’s was familiar for so many wrong reasons.

“All right, all right, just don’t yell,” Desmond shushed him since the others were no less light sleepers than him not to mention Altair was probably awake and no need to draw his attention, especially when discussing such a subject. “And he said Malik?”

“Desmond he called me Malik. He called me it several times.”

“Several?” his brows went up his surprise evident.

“Who is he? Tell me,” he ordered.

“A friend of Altair’s, a very old friend,” Desmond finally confessed with a sigh. “He’s dead now though,” yes, very dead. Like almost nine hundred years dead actually. “You remind him of them.”

“What?” now it was Jacob’s turn to be confused. “He thought I was them?”

“Yes,” Desmond said.

“Fuck,” and Jacob rubbed his face. “How close were they?”

“Why?” There had been so many conflicting emotions in Altair when he’d lived through those brutal months of hunting down the nine men Al Mualim had set to him that he had such a hard time decided just what it was Altair thought about Malik. Then just as they seemed to be getting on again his week at Abstergo had ended and he’d been thrust face first into Ezio with barely time to breath in between. Altair and Malik had been far from his mind since Ezio had such a more _vibrant_ personality, so much more alive and happy, more like Desmond really. Altair was too cold, too distant and that similarity that had allowed for an easier sync had all but erased what he knew of Altair other than memories that sometimes had bled through as ghost signs in the daylight and dreams when he slept.

“Never mind,” Jacob said with a sigh. “Just… never mind. If you don’t know then its fine, I can’t expect you to know everything. That’s what Hawk is for apparently,” he said and leaned against the wall stretching out his legs so they hung awkwardly off the bed.

“He does know everything doesn’t he?” Desmond agreed.

“And more. Half the words out of his mouth I swear are insane. Are you sure he isn’t touched in the head?”

“He isn’t,” Desmond smiled easily knowing he was lying. Hawk was more than a little touched. He was gifted as well though.

“Well at least that’s one of them,” Jacob said. “Altair scares me you know.”

“He should,” and Jacob stared at him.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“No,” Desmond said.

“Why? He’s not nice.”

“He would never hurt me, or anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Desmond said. “So he wouldn’t hurt you either.”

“Oh,” he looked to be thinking busily before with a tired sigh leaned his head against Desmond shoulder. “He likes hurting me when we train,” he said at length.

“I get hurt too,” Desmond pointed out, “And you do not have knife fighting practice.”

“But you can defend yourself. I can’t.”

“That’s why you have practice with me. Be glad you don’t have to take Ezio’s training.”

“Why?” Jacob asked, shifting his head on Desmond’s shoulder to look him in the eye.

“I’m climbing trees, all afternoon.” Jumping from them and between them and trying to learn how to be stealthy in broad daylight, which was harder then when they all played manhunt during the night.

“I’d rather climb trees,” Jacob said softly.

“So you say,” Desmond huffed.

“So what, you like getting beat up by Altair?”

“I’m used to it.”

Jacob sat up and gave him a hard look, “You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” he said. “ _We_ shouldn’t have to get used to it,” he added with more dedication to his voice.

“And what choice do we have hmmm? This is who I am and what you have to deal with,” Desmond said back.

“You could leave.”

Desmond was quiet, “This is me running. Running as far and as fast as I can. I don’t think you get that Jacob,” and he poked Jacob on the forehead. “If I leave I have nothing. I don’t plan on doing that again.”

“Well I want to leave.”

“If you leave us you will be killed, you know that right?”

“I doubt it,” Jacob muttered.

“The Templars will get what they want and kill you once they have no use for you. The Assassins won’t kill you out right, but they’ll never let you go. Like they wouldn’t let me go, so I ran, and now I’m running again.”

“You seem very good at getting away from them. I bet they wouldn’t be able to find us.”

“Oh, its _us_ now?” Desmond said with a bit of a mocking, almost playful, resonance to his voice.

“We seem to be in the same boat. And you’re better at keeping away from these people than me,” Jacob said.

“Well I’m not leaving. These three are…” What friends? Comrades? Teachers? Family? There was almost too much baggage associated with them for Desmond to find some word that could accurately describe his relationship with his ancestors.

“Are what?” Jacob asked in a semi suspicious manner. Desmond didn’t answer. “They’re practically your wardens. Or if you haven’t noticed they don’t let us go where we want. Can’t go to Eden, can’t leave the beach, can’t use the motorcycles, can’t do this or can’t do that, cant do anything without permission, can’t can’t can’t.”

Desmond chuckled mirthlessly, “Trust me Jacob, I have lived with people like wardens. They are _nothing_ like them.”

“What would you do if I ran?”

“We’d let you go,” Desmond said, “Ezio said we’d keep you safe, but only if you stayed. They are not jailers Jacob and its against everything they believe to make someone do something they don’t want to do.”

“So I could stop practicing?”

“If you wanted,” Desmond shrugged, “But then what is the point of you? You’re weak, and still flabby,” he poked Jacob in the gut. He could feel a layer of muscle under there but it was under a slight layer of fat still. “You’re just a man.”

“And what are you if not one as well?” Jacob demanded.

Desmond’s eyes flicked away from him and looked towards the bedside table where his hidden blade lay. “I am what I was bred to be. What I always would be no matter how much I run or try to fight against it. I’m an Assassin,” he said softly.

“You could be something else,” Jacob suggested, “Something without a God complex, since the other three have one of those in spades.”

Desmond laughed, he couldn’t help it. The irony of it was just too fantastic to bear. Three immortals with the powers of the Pieces of Eden, professional death dealers at that, and all Jacob had to say was they had a God complex. If only it was that simple. He looked over at the New Yorker, Jacob was grinning slightly. “Tried that,” he said, still grinning, “Ended up a bartender. You want to talk about God complex.” Jacob snorted in amusement the bight tension that had been building up bursting apart like a balloon.

“Christ that’s even worse then just being an assassin. Talk about playing God,” Jacob said settling next to him again, his body becoming a warmth next to him. “Were you any good at it?”

“Any good at what?”

“Bartending.”

“Did for almost a decade, so I guess so,” Desmond shrugged. “Still want to leave?”

Jacob didn’t answer at first, merely biting his lip. “I don’t really have anywhere to go do I?” he sighed. “My apartment no doubt got rented out to someone else by now, all my stuff sold and my cat is probably dead. Not to mention I’m here in mother fucking Australia, with a bunch of murderers no less,” he said sarcastically.

“Guess you’re stuck with us than,” Desmond said with a shrug.

“Well, could be worse,” now Jacob shrugged. “You could all be terribly ugly as well as insane murderers,” and Desmond chuckled.

“Hey, I’m not insane,” Desmond said sounding offended and Jacob didn’t know how close to home such a remark was. He had almost gone insane, weeks ago now, so long ago it was like a dream he’d had long ago. But he was better now and it had been a long time since he’d seen a phantom in the day, nor did he have nightmares that left him screaming in his sleep.

“You get uppity about the insane part but not the murderer part?” Jacob scoffed.

“Well that’s true isn’t it? I mean, I do kill people.”

“I guess. I could never kill a man,” Jacob insisted, leaning against Desmond.

“You’d be surprised what you would do if it was required of you,” Desmond said softly remember the first thing he’d ever killed. “You’ll have a choice, and usually it is kill, or suffer yourself. I once would have rather suffered.”

“And now?”

“My hand is steady.”

“Murderer,” Jacob said though did not seem too upset by it.

“Some things are worth it.”

“Such?”

“I lost someone very important to me, because I did the wrong things. I wasn’t strong enough. That wont happen again.”

“What happened?”

Desmond stared strait ahead, “I was manipulated by something bigger than me,” well didn’t that sound familiar, his entire life seemed like him moving from one manipulation to the next. First the Farm and his parents, those years on the run where his fear and paranoia forced his hand every time, then at Abstergo and Vidic’s strict time table, then the Assassins, who he thought were the good guys, who were just as corrupt, he wasn’t even going to touch Juno, or Those Who Came Before. This was the first time he felt free. Sure he was on the run, but he wasn’t scared, he wasn’t terrified of being found, he could run and he could fight and for one of the first times ever he had people he could rely on. They weren’t here because they were forced to, like Shaun, Rebecca and Lucy had been. Instead his ancestors had sought him out and given him his wings on the blade of a knife, turning him into something that didn’t have fear, didn’t need it, didn’t have to run. He knew they were waiting for him, waiting for him to be ready, and they would wait for as long as needed, because they’d already waited centuries.  “Never again,” he ended in a stern frown.

“It seems like they do-

“Jacob,” Desmond turned to the New Yorker and the man closed his mouth at his tone, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. So don’t even finish that sentence or I will kick you out,” he threatened.

“Okay, okay,” he raised a hand in deference. Once it was clear he wouldn’t get kicked off the bed or out of the room he relaxed again. A silence settled between them and Desmond let the other man lean against him as they sat. After a while he suddenly asked, “And you’re sure you don’t know who Malik is?” Desmond snorted, that had been the reason Jacob had come here after all, he wanted to know about Malik. “You so know who he is,” he said accusingly.

“You want to know about Malik, you ask Altair,” he said simply.

“No way, he’s scary.”

“He would probably tell you,” Desmond said glancing at him, “If you asked nicely.” Jacob just scowled at him, “Or in Arabic,” he added.

Jacob made a face at him, “Why can’t you just tell me?” he whined.

“Because,” Desmond said, “It’s not something for me to tell.”

“Why would he tell me anyway? He hates me.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He enjoys kicking my ass and calling me ‘novice’. I never hear him call you that,” he pouted and tried to appeal to Desmond by pushing up against his shoulder. Desmond just grinned. “C’mon, I know you know, tell me.”

“Nope,” he said smirking. “Going to make me, novice?” and calling Jacob made part of him shiver. Even if he no longer saw things that weren’t there the effects of the Animus were still there, he ancestors were forever in his head and that small part of him that was Altair was well as himself got a thrill out of calling Jacob that.

“I could,” Jacob said darkly.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I know how to make you start blabbering,” Jacob said smugly and Desmond blushed a little. “Since if I remember you had a hard time shutting up,” now Jacob was the one who was smirking.

“Hey now I don’t wa-” but then Jacob was kissing him. His stomach turned over on itself without his consent and was torn between pushing him away or kissing back. Jacob didn’t seem at all deterred Desmond was having an existential crisis and pushed forward. Reluctantly Desmond kissed back after he caved into the part of him that wanted this.

He broke the kiss when he heard something, or thought he heard something and visibly paled when he saw the door. It was closed.

“Stop,” and he stooped Jacob away with that word. Jacob blinked at him a bit confused and sort of hurt maybe. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression but-

Jacob narrowed his eyes a little, “I get it,” he said cooly and shit this had twisted around on him in a bad way.

“No, Jacob it’s not like-

“Sorry I disturbed you,” Jacob said and opened the door, leaving before Desmond could get in another word. Desmond just stared after him and knew he couldn’t follow. He turned to his mattress and shoved his face into his pillow with a loud angry groan.

He’d been so dumb! He knew Altair was still awake and didn’t doubt he’d check in on him, he always did. He always made sure Desmond was safe. But he knew all those complicated emotions Altair had for his old friend, he knew because he had them too, to a lesser extent, and knew all too well that the ancient assassin was sort of… projecting onto Jacob. As it was he knew Altair hadn’t almost killed Jacob when he’d tried to wake him up, hell he’d even confused the two. The idea of Altair waking up to someone’s prodding calmly was a mystery to Desmond who couldn’t even imagine it since the assassin went from waking to sleeping in pointed, almost violent instances, even when he woke normally. He was either awake, or he was asleep, with no fuzzy between sleep between them. He’d probably come to check on him, saw he was with Jacob and then…

Shit.

Part of him wanted to go talk to Altair. The other knew he didn’t have to. They all knew what had happened to him in the Animus, about Sixteen and the Black Room and Lucy and the Bleeding Effect and how it had fractured his mind almost beyond repair. They all knew he had his moments where he sometimes wasn’t always himself, where sometimes those parts of him that thought he was Ezio or Altair came out when he first woke up, or after a training session. They knew sometimes he wasn’t… himself. That should be enough of an explanation. 

He wouldn’t deny he was attracted to Jacob, but it wasn’t like— like it was all him. Jacob wasn’t really his type, he was good looking but not his type. Not his _real_ type anyway since after everything that had happened his preferences were a bit warped by his ancestors. But he knew what he’d liked before all this crap, and Jacob wasn’t really it. The attraction was from another life and he was helpless against it since it was in his brain, was him, even if he just wanted to delete all those parts where Altair and Ezio had Bled into him. That was impossible and he knew it since the Animus rewrote memory cells, and not even Apples could fix that.

There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t think Altair hadn’t seen that. Why else would the door have been closed? He sure as hell hadn’t closed it. He still wanted to explain himself to Altair though, he was the one who had all these messed up feelings and he could only imagine how they had warped and unfurled after nine-hundred years of keeping them to himself and then _bam!_ this kid from New York who looked like Malik just happened to fall right into their laps. Not only that he was who they thought he was. That just made it all worse and he’d seen Altar’s face when he’d told him. He’d looked so lost, like he didn’t know what to do with himself suddenly. Frankly Desmond didn’t want to know what was going on in Altair’s head about Jacob. He also knew he’d probably just popped whatever balloon there had been about it.

With a sigh he rolled over onto his side and frowned deeply. He knew well enough that going and talking to Altair now was a bad idea. Same with Jacob, as _they_ had the exact same temperament.

He had a feeling tomorrow was going to suck.


	20. The War Bird

Just everything hurt. Sitting hurt, standing hurt, lying on his back hurt, so did lying on his stomach. The only relief was the warm ocean where he didn’t have pressure on anything and could just float. His skin had turned into one giant red sand rash and was covered in a fresh coat of bruises that jumped out green and purple against his otherwise tanned skin. Desmond just sucked it up though. He knew Altair wouldn’t go easy on him forever, that he’d really actually start being serious, like how he saw him during games of manhunt and hunted the other three of them in the trees around the beach. He thought maybe he’d have more time to adjust though, more time to get faster. That wasn’t the case. Since that night Jacob had turned up at his room Altair had been ruthless.

The only consultation was that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

If Desmond was in rough shape Jacob was in even worse. While he wasn’t covered in bruises that was only because Altair simply ran him to the point of total exhaustion where he could barely haul himself into the house after the day’s training, shove something into his mouth, shower and then collapse. Desmond was in a similar boat, only he would spend hours after training out in the water before dinner, and then after between it and their games of manhunt, which had become deadlier as of late.

Desmond wasn’t stupid. He had been called many things, and while Shaun often said he was a blumbering incompetent idiot he most certainly not an idiot. Anyone with a healthy knowledge of Altair knew exactly what was happening and not even Ezio or Hawk said anything about his rough treatment. Altair was angry. They didn’t know what but Desmond could guess. Altair’s real anger wasn’t explosive when he’d attacked Desmond back in Pittsburgh, that had been more crazy, a small part of his sanity snapping. No, Altair’s anger was so cold it burned and he made you wish you’d never been born to anger him in the first place.

Needless to say, it was working.

Desmond groaned when he pulled himself out of bed one morning, eleven days since Jacob had shown up in his room. Eleven days since he’d kissed the other man. Eleven days since he’d forgotten what it felt like not to hurt all the time. Eleven days since they’d pissed Altair off. He always hurt a bit less after a good’s night sleep where he slept like the dead and woke half an hour after sunrise and today was no different. In fact, he felt a lot less sore than he had been these past eleven days, so that was something. His muscles and joints still hurt but not the dead hurt where he had to force his body to respond before he warmed up enough after sleep stiffened them up.

There was already a full pot of coffee made when Desmond went into the kitchen and near blindly poured himself a cup. At the bar Hawk and Ezio discussed something softly. Altair was nowhere in sight, Desmond was a bit grateful for that. “Breakfast?” he asked with a zombie-like moan.

“You making?” Ezio asked, Desmond just sent him a look and Ezio laughed. “What’ou want?” he asked coming around into the kitchen.

“Pancakes,” Desmond droned.

“Pancakes?”

“Did I st-st-stutter?”Desmond said and Hawk snickered. Ezio just rolled his eyes and gave him a gentle push toward Hawk. Desmond slumped into the stool to the sound of Ezio banging some bowls around and getting out the ingredients for pancakes. Desmond knew the others were being far more lenient than usual because of Altair and his brutal training, but neither of them told him to back off or stop either.

As Ezio made a massive amount of pancakes Jacob stumbled into the kitchen too. He looked exhausted, but wasn’t all messed up like Desmond was. Altair liked to give him endurance building training, long runs, suicide sprints, swimming, running, then swimming again, then pushups between going from air to water. So while Desmond hurt, Jacob was just always tired. He had been getting better though. As soon as Altair saw that though he just loaded even more like he was just trying to make the man break. Jacob never complained though, which Desmond thought was impressive considering he’d tried to get Desmond to leave with him.

“Where’s the slave driver?” Jacob asked as Ezio put a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Sleeping,” Hawk said.

“Small mercies,” he said cheerfully and went to take the last seat at the bar. “Who’s idea were the pancakes?”

“I love pancakes okay?” Desmond said giving him a look, Jacob chuckled but said nothing as Ezio finished cooking and plated up the pancakes. Desmond grabbed the butter when it was presented to him and slathered his with it as well as some honey, though ignored the syrup, which Hawk drowned his in. He didn’t know what it was with tech heads and sugar since Becca liked to do the same to her waffles (she said pancakes were wanna-be waffles).

As they ate Ezio said, “You guys don’t have training today,” and Desmond and Jacob groaned in relief in unison. “We’re going to be moving soon, can’t have you two walking around half dead,” he nodded at them both. “So eat and go back to sleep.”

“Where are we going?” Desmond asked.

“Dubai,” Hawk answered.

Desmond choked, “D-Dubai?” he asked after coughing to clear his throat.

“Yes.”

“What’s in Dubai?” Jacob asked.

There was a strange, tense silence that lasted a few seconds before Ezio said, “It’s where the main headquarters is for our Order, has been for… what? Almost fifty years now?” he looked at Hawk for confirmation. “Before it was in New York, and before that London.”

“That’s quite a change,” Jacob said.

“It follows the influential flow,” Ezio said. “Our Order isn’t stagnant, it goes where it needs to go, right now that’s the Middle East, again, one day it’ll shift focus to another rising part of the world.”

“Well that seems logical.”

“It’s also where the vault is,” Hawk said flatly.

“Vault?” Desmond looked at him with furrowed brows.

Hawk sighed and rubbed his face, “That’s why we’re going. I need some things from it.”

“What vault? I never heard of it,” Desmond said.

“As you should. According to files there is not such thing, only the Mentor knows.”

“Okay but what is it?” Desmond prodded.

Hawk sighed, then looked at Jacob, then at Ezio who shrugged helplessly, “A while ago,” man that could mean anything to a hundred years ago for Hawk, “We went to the emirate before it is what it is today for the same reasons people went there before, strategic location, and I… built an inoperable vault.”

“But didn’t you just say you needed something from it?”

“Well, others can’t open it. I can,” Hawk said.

“What’s in it?” Desmond asked.

“Pieces of Eden,” and Desmond stared, “Artifacts from Those Who Came Before,” Desmond swallowed a little.

“Oh.”

“Only problem is that they built the skyscraper the Order headquarters resides in _right on top_ of the vault,” Hawk rubbed his head.

“So that means—?”

“It means we have to somehow get inside the Order,” and they all looked when Altair appeared. He looked calmer than he had in eleven days and Desmond knew he’d probably just gotten more than three hours of sleep. “Except they’re after both of you,” he pointed to Desmond and Jacob.

“And Altair killed the last Mentor,” Ezio said flatly.

“You what?” Desmond demanded and stared at him.

“Wouldn’t be the first one,” Altair said scratching his arm boredly, “They’re so… soft now,” and he shrugged, he didn’t care.

“Okay, regardless,” Desmond tried not to think about that statement. He knew it wasn’t the first, he’d murdered Al Mualim through Altair’s memories and knew how then it had bitten at the man, still Desmond got the feeling he wasn’t just talking about Al Mualim. “So we’re going to Dubai because Hawk and Ezio can get in-

“Nope,” Hawk cut him off. “We were there.”

“So we’re… sneaking in?”

“Yeap,” Ezio said.

“Well that… that’s just great,” Desmond said sarcastically and threw up his hands a bit to show his internal frustration.

“Don’t worry too much, anyone who saw us is probably dead by now,” Hawk said.

“Probably?” Jacob asked. Everyone just ignored him.

“We all look the part of Master, and no one will recognize us at first so we have a chance to get in mostly unseen,” Hawk continued.

“How are we going to do that?” Desmond sighed. “We just going to walk in through the front door?”

“Yes,” Altair said surprising him. “You can get in no problem,” Altair said looking right at him. “As for us,” and his eyes went to Jacob, “We’ll be bringing home a stray.”


	21. The Cranes of Dubai

The heat was familiar.

That was the first thing Desmond thought as they stepped out of the airport. It was that dry, moisture zapping heat that you could only find in the desert, a far cry from anywhere Desmond had ever been in real life. Italy had been hot but that was a wet heat, one that made your clothes sticks to you as you struggled to breath while underwater. This was the sort of heat that bleached bones and gave you skin cancer if you happened to get too close to a mirror outside. Even under a cover Desmond could feel the sun overhead and made his skin prickle, but not sweat. No, not sweat, it was too dry for that.

“Oi, don’t just block traffic Little Bird,” Hawk pushed him and he moved. He grinned at the immortal and followed after the others as they crossed the pick up lanes and headed towards the parking garage like they had every right to do so.

“You seem way too excited too be here,” Jacob noted, slowing a bit to keep pace with Desmond. “You ever been to the holy land?”

“Nope,” Desmond said with an almost excited smile. Jacob just furrowed his brows at him.

“You’d think you’d have been more excited about Italy than this sand box,” Ezio called back as they entered the multi story parking garage only for Altair to cuff him across the back of the head with a grunt.

Desmond laughed, “Just because it was a week didn’t mean it didn’t leave a mark Ezio. Besides, way fewer people trying to kill me here,” Desmond joked.

“Yeah, only two and a half armies,” Altair called back, “Only the same amount as you have on your ass right now,” he looked over his shoulder at Desmond with a sort of smug look and Desmond made a face at him.

“Okay… I understood like none of that,” Jacob said.

“As you shouldn’t,” Hawk said as the boarded an elevator. “Some things are on a need to know basis Stray, and you aren’t on that list,” he gave Jacob a once over, “Not yet at least,” he ended with a smirk as the elevator dinged.

“You ever gonna stop calling me that?”

“Better name than we got starting off,” Altair motioned to himself and Ezio. “I was Goldy and Ezio was the Beard.”

“The Beard? Ezio, I know you had a beard but-

“Not talking about it,” Ezio chimed in.

“He was undercover as an Amish,” and Ezio punched his shoulder hard enough for it to leave a bruise on a normal person, Altair just snorted and rolled his eyes. Desmond however laughed. Ezio, pretending to be Amish, was probably the most hilarious thing ever.

“Yeah yeah, lets go,” Ezio groused, shoving them all out of the elevator. “Where we going Hawk?” he changed topics, deflecting terribly.

“Till we can find what we need? Minivan,” Ezio and Altair groaned.

“I hate minivans,” Ezio moaned.

“Worst invention since the pocket motorcycle,” Altair agreed.

“Quit the belly aching, I see one,” and Hawk pointed.

“You’re going to steal a minivan?” Jacob asked.

“Yep,” Hawk nodded.

“We were riding Ninjas from the States to Australia and now we’re what… taking a minivan?” Jacob wasn’t impressed.

“What? Were you expecting Ducatis just because we’re in Dubai?” Hawk asked.

“No, but really… a fucking minivan.”

“Just until we can find a dealership, all of us in one place is a bad idea, don’t get your panties in a knot, novice,” Altair patted Jacob’s arm in a sort of patronizing way.

“Can I have my own bike this time-

“No,” everyone said at the same time.

“Why?” he whined, having to hustle after them when he stopped from the stereo denial.

“You’re still a civilian, a liability,” Altair drawled and they came up on the car. “Until we know you’re one of us, you stick on one of our bikes, got it?”

Jacob sighed, but didn’t complain again. Ezio hummed as he picked the lock on the car- it was open in about six seconds- and got into the diver’s seat, opening the doors and then ducking down under the steering column. Hawk took shot gun and Altair pushed both Jacob and Desmond in before him and then closed the door. The car rumbled to life and Ezio backed out of the parking space.

They even paid the ticket on their way out.

—

They rode in on two bikes and a sleek black car. Ezio and Hawk had the bikes, Desmond rode shotgun as Altair drove. He rolled the Apple around in his hand nervously. He honestly had nothing to be worried about. Jacob on the other hand… the guy was sweating bullets.

They’d been in Dubai the better part of half a month now, planning and preparing, building up a cover story as Hawk planted information about a three man cell bringing in one of the guys on the Order’s ‘wish list’. While there he did a few misdirects, saying Desmond had been spotted on three separate continents with several eye witnesses, and made a few key cards to get in. The Order was _waiting_ for them.

Desmond looked out the window as the rolled up to the sky scraper. It was massive, one of the tallest in the city, and made of steel with a sleek glass facade. It thought it interesting, that skyscrapers were made of glass. Especially this one. It housed one of the most secret orders in the entire world, probably enough secrets to boggle any conspiracy theorist’s head and had agents all over the world. Yet, all that protected the juicy interior was less than an inch of glass. 

Beyond the building he could see more, rising high into the air, topped by cranes. Dozens of them. Dubai had more cranes per capita than anywhere else. All in the rush to build bigger, build taller, build more amazing than the guy next to him. It was a race to keep the oil trade going, keep feeding the world’s habit even as they burned it down around their ears.

It was a fragile existence, just like everything the Assassins stood for.

“Ready?” Altair asked as he came to a stop.

Desmond looked over at him, then back at Jacob, who seemed nervous, hands bound, they’d even blind folded him. Desmond frowned then looked at Altair. “Ready when you are,” and the Apple played a tritone into his head as he slipped out of existence.


	22. Birds in a Maze

There was a security gate at the front of the lobby. Desmond vaulted right over it without even touching it. Ezio would have been proud of his landing, if he could have seen, but he couldn’t because he was invisible. On the proper side of the security he turned back around. The three of them walked in like they belonged, Ezio leading Jacob along by the elbow. The New Yorker had a twitchy head and kept trying to look around.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” the guard seemed wary, but he didn’t reach for a gun. He shouldn’t need one though since if he was an Assassin guard there were no less than ten ways he could kill with just one hand.

“Field cell Oscar November, we have a present for the boss,” Hawk said and flashed what looked like a coin at the guard. “Let us in.”

“O-oh, of course sir,” the guard practically fell over himself to open the gate. Ezio prodded Jacob through and they walked right through. All the agents avoided looking at them, plausible deniability if something ever did go wrong. Desmond could have walked in here without an Apple and no one would have looked at him if he stood between the three of them.

Watching them was really something else. He was sort of used to how they moved, he’d lived in Altair and Ezio’s skin for weeks for fuck’s sake. But this… this was different and scary on a whole other level. He now saw that his own puppeteering of his ancestors was a far cry from how a real Master Assassin moved. They walked like they were on the hunt. No cocky swagger, no heavy motion, they didn’t even make a sound, their clothes making less than a whisper of noise. They _looked_ like Masters, because they were. Anyone with eyes who worked at this building knew that and knew to stay the fuck out of their way.

Grinning like a fool he followed them to the elevator, sliding right up next to Jacob, though the other man couldn’t see or feel him. They waited for it to ding and open and walked in. No one got on with them, especially not with Altair standing point.

Hawk pressed for fifteenth floor and once the doors closed Desmond heard a soft, high frequency buzz that made his eyes water. “Camera is jammed, untie him,” Hawk announced and Ezio cut the zip ties holding Jacob’s wrists and the New Yorker snatched the blind fold off his eyes.

“You guys are all fucking paranoid,” Jacob said.

“We’ve survived for thousands of years, by being paranoid,” Ezio shrugged. “Des, you here?”

“Yeap,” Desmond said but didn’t drop his cloak.

“Good, when we stop at fifteen-” the doors opened and he shut up. No one got on though. Not with Altair standing at the front, looking eight feet tall even if he was barely topping out at five foot nine. Hawk pressed the door close bottom and they continued to rise. “You get out, get to the stairs, we’ll be coming down from the seventeenth floor.”

“Yeah, I know,” and the door dinged again, floor fifteen. Desmond slipped past Altair and wove between the people waiting to board (none still did, Altair was fucking scary) and made for the stairs. There he checked out the security, which was non existent. The Assassins figured that if you’d made it up this far you were either one of them, or they’d catch you on a mistake you made where they could see you. Also, stairs were terrible places for fights, it was just easier to have the entire floor wait for you outside the door you could go out of. And since everyone in the building had at least some level of combat training (some, like accountants or mail people not as much as those who kept the Order running). It was a safe bet that if you got into the Order’s main head quarters unnoticed you wouldn’t get out unless they wanted you to.

He only had to wait a few minutes before a floor above him the door opened and four sets of feet hit the concrete. “We all clear?” Ezio called once the door had closed.

“Yep,” Desmond called up and finally dropped his invisibility since he hadn’t felt really safe again without his ancestors around to be his backup.

“Down we go then,” Hawk said moving past him and down the stairs to floor fourteen.

—

The basement was huge and three floors deep. Most of it was storage equipment, but Desmond recognized bunkers and safe houses where if something wrong did happen this place was a haven. There were pallets of food in some places, cases of water, stacks of batteries, generators, and gasoline, and that was only in the rooms Desmond actually checked before Altair put his hands on his shoulders and steered him the right direction so they weren’t distracted.

“Man, they turned this place into a dump,” Hawk said.

“What?”

“I built this place. It’s supposed to be a maze,” he explained. “And they turned it into a base. Fucking assassins, no appreciation for genius” he ended in a mutter.

“Well wasn’t that the point?” Desmond asked.

“Know the story of the labyrinth?”

“Yeap,” Desmond and Jacob said at the same time.

“I modeled it after Daedalus’ original plan, only improved it.”

“Daedalus?” Jacob questioned, “Wasn’t that who built the one for King Minos?”

“The very one.”

“But that thing is just a myth-” Ezio, Altair and Hawk all laughed.

“Word to the wise Jake,” Ezio clapped him on the shoulder, “There isn’t any such thing as myth.”

“But-

“Jacob, better to just roll with it,” Desmond suggested and Jacob just gave them all confused looked but said nothing more. “You said you improved it,” Desmond added to Hawk.

“I did indeed,” and they stopped in front of a wall. It wasn’t even a head end. It was a wall in front of three way intersection. “I designed it to hide secrets, and only I was supposed to know how to get through. As it is it doesn’t look like they’ve explored half the area,” he groused. Then in a more upbeat tone Desmond usually associated him with he said, “They might have turned my beautiful labyrinth into a giant nuclear bunker, but,” he ran his hand along the wall. “She’ll always be mine,” and though Desmond couldn’t see he knew Hawk had a huge grin on his face, especially when the wall suddenly flashed an intricate pattern of golden light and faded. Then he said something in a language Desmond didn’t know.

“What was that?” Desmond asked as the wall moved and opened like a set of sliding doors.

“Navajo,” Hawk said and they walked through the newly revealed tunnel. “Makes a great code since you can’t really write it phonetically, and only natives can really speak it.”

“But your from Boston,” Jacob said with a frown.

“Yes, I am indeed,” Hawk put his hand on a pale square on the side of the hall, it dinged softly and the doors closed. For a moment they were plunged into darkness. “Venus,” he called, “Be a dear and turn on the lights.”

“I hate her,” Ezio  muttered.

“Hello, sir,” said an angelic voice and a set of lights imbedded in the floor and ceiling molding faded into existence as pure golden bars.

“That’s a girl.”

“Venus?” Desmond asked.

“Will explain later,” Hawk waved him off.

“Trust me, you won’t like her,” Ezio told him.

“Is she like Minerva?”

“Worse,” Ezio groused and Desmond whistled.

“Are we there yet?” Jacob asked.

“This is only the second ring,” Hawk said as if that was all the explanation they needed. “This labyrinth has five.” Jacob groaned and Desmond fought a snicker, this was going to be a long walk and Jacob would hate every moment of it.


	23. Millenium Falcom

The vault was a thing out of a scifi novel, or at least a Doctor Who episode. The last room of the last spiral (as Hawk called it) was big and made Desmond uneasy. It reminded him of the ruins under the Colosseum and thinking about that made him rub his left wrist nervously. He looked up when someone put a hand on his shoulder and saw Altair. The older man said nothing and just looked at the vault. It was a big cube made of some sort of black metal etched all over in semi familiar designs. Desmond knew they were familiar because they looked like the etchings on the Apple.

“So how do you open it?” Jacob asked circling the box. It was about twelve feet square, not huge, but big enough to hold most things.

“Please do not touch,” said the angelic voice that had sounded a few times on their journey there, as Jacob reached out to touch the vault.

Jacob jerked back, “Sorry,” he apologized and looked at the vault with a frown.

“So who’s Venus?” Desmond asked.

“Venus, look alive,” Hawk called. Immediately a hologram flickered into view. He remembered Minerva through Ezio, and Juno through his own eyes. Venus looked nothing like those older women with their big flowing and floating robes and crazy head dresses. No. Venus was young and wore a simple dress. Her hair was long and gold tinted brown and loose around her shoulders. She was also gorgeous. Though Desmond shouldn’t have been surprised, with a name like Venus she should have been.

“Oh wow,” Desmond breathed. “Is she… one of them?” he asked and she smiled at him.

“Something like that,” Hawk said looking at her and his tone jolted Desmond. He looked at Hawk, but the man had his back to him. His tone was the same he’d used back in Australia when he’d found him during that thunder storm. Something sad and terrible and heart breaking. “Well, now you’ve seen her, time to get to work,” and he hopped over to the vault and his Apple appeared in his hand. “Anyone disturb you while I was gone Venus?” he asked.

“No Hawk. No one since you last left,” Venus said.

“Good. That’s good,” Hawk said quietly and slid his Apple into a slot in the wall of the vault. The etching along the sides began to glow blue and a series of circles began to turn, slowly clicking into place like the tumblers of a giant safe, which of course that was exactly what the box was. Then a small door, barely taller than Hawk, opened in the side of the vault and pale light shown onto his form. He walked in without a word.

“So… we just wait for him?” Jacob asked.

“Yep,” Ezio said.

“What’s even in there?” Jacob moved to look, Ezio held him back.

“Lets just say you’re not ready for the Truth,” Ezio said, Jacob frowned at him, but knew better than to argue.

“How long should he be?” Desmond asked.

“Couple minutes,” Altair shrugged.

“ _What’s in there. You said it was artifacts from Those Who Cam Before. But like what?”_ Desmond went with Italian, since he was better at it than Arabic and Jacob couldn’t understand it and both Ezio and Altair could.

_“Things we’ve collected over the years. We kept them out of Templar hands. Also out of human hands.”_

_“And they’re all Pieces of Eden?”_

_“Some of them, some are just artifacts, huge jumps in technology that the world isn’t ready for.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“They’ll be ready when they can make them themselves,”_ Altair said and Desmond nodded, since yeah, that was reasonable. Once humanity could actually build something themselves give them the more advanced toys.

_“So all the stuff you’ve ever found fits in a little twelve by twelve block?”_

_“Well, we’ve had to destroy some of the artifacts. Too dangerous, too big too move, too hazardous to take out of where it was.”_

_“And it’s bigger on the inside,”_ Ezio chimed in.

_“What?”_ Desmond rose a brow at him.

_“If you’re lucky you might see,”_ Ezio laughed.

Desmond just furrowed his brows at him but didn’t understand, _“Don’t worry about it,”_ Altair squeezed his shoulder.

“Little Bird,” Hawk suddenly called. They all looked towards the door.

“Desmond, Hawk requires your presence,” Venus was suddenly in front of him and Desmond jumped a little, startled.

“Oh, sure,” he looked back at Altair who shrugged slightly and let him go. Desmond moved towards the vault and stepped inside. “Woah,” he breathed and looked around. It certainly was bigger on the inside, extending down into the ground about twenty feet. The vault was hollow and made of some sort of white metal and the sides were lined with doors of various shapes and sizes, only, it still looked to be about twelve feet across. Twelve feet of open air before the wall. “Hawk?” he called.

“Down here,” Hawk called.

“Uh,” he looked around for how to get down. “How?”

“Venus, show him,” Hawk called up.

“Hand holds,” Venus appeared in thin air in front of him and he looked down and saw that indeed there were hand hold. He flipped over the side and started to climb down. “Why doesn’t this place have a ladder?”

“Elevator only goes up,” Hawk said, back to him, digging through a white wooden box.

“E-elevator?” Desmond stammered.

Hawk looked back at him with a misgevrious grin. “Of course there’s an elevator, it only goes up though.”

“Uh…” Desmond didn’t quite understand but he figured it was better not to ask. “Why did you need me?”

“For,” and Hawk pulled open a small door in the wall, “this,” and he dragged a long wooden box with several small drawers along the side out and set it on the table between them and opened one of the drawers.

“What is that?” Desmond asked staring at the small cube in the drawer, sitting in a steel housing, two inches square and looked like it was made of glass that glowed blue from the _inside_ though he couldn’t tell how. It was covered in thousands of tiny square, glass, chips.

“It’s called a millennium cube,” Hawk said.

Desmond went through his mental catalogue of what it could be then he blinked, “Isn’t that just a fancy term for a paper weight?”

Hawk laughed, “Yes, yes it is,” Hawk nodded. “But before they made fancy glass paper weights and called them millennium cubes Those Who Came Before used them as power sources. Think of it as a battery. A battery that can run for thousands of hours and still keep going.”

“Oh,” Desmond stared at the millennium cube. “Why do you need me?”

“Pick it up,” Hawk ordered. Desmond hesitated, “It won’t hurt.”

Cautiously Desmond picked up the little glass cube. It was warm in his hand and he blinked as he thought he saw something for half a second projected in front of his eyes. Instead the cube just made a tinkling noise that made the hair rise up on the back of Desmond’s neck. It sounded like the noise the Animus made when things he needed to collect were near, like wanted posters, or chests, or feathers, or other dumb time wasting shit. Then the noise faded and the light inside the cube dimmed.

“Thank you,” and Hawk plucked it out of his fingers and put it in a bag. He put the long box back into the slot in the wall.

“Why did you need me to do that?” Desmond asked.

“I can’t touch it when it’s like that,” Hawk explained.

“What? Why?”

He turned back and gave Desmond a slight smile, “Think of it like two atoms smashing together-

“Nuclear reaction.”

“Sort of, thing more energy.”

“Fusion?”

“Bingo. Knew you were a clever one,” and he gave Desmond a tap with his fist against his arm.

“So that thing-

“Millennium cube.”

“Millennium cube,” Desmond amended, “is basically a nuclear reactor?”

“Something like that yeah,” Hawk nodded and moved around the vault, getting onto a step stool to reach something higher.

“You just had me hold— a nuclear reactor‽” he yelped.

“Relax, I said it was only like one. Better comparison,” Hawk said. “Don’t worry you won’t get cancer, and no it isn’t radioactive,” he pulled out another box and stepped down from the stool back to the table. “I said it was like a nuclear reactor. Has the same power, only it’s cleaner.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“No fucking clue. I just know what it does, not how it works,” Hawk shrugged.

“Okay… why was it okay for me to hold it again?”

Hawk looked at him, glanced him up and down, gave him a slight, wane, smile, then said, “You’re special,” he said gently.

Desmond blinked. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Hawk,” Venus appeared across from the Bostonian. “I’ve run inventory on the entire vault, required artifacts have been moved to locker EA81,” she said.

“Thank you Venus,” he smiled at her.

“So… Venus?” Desmond prodded.

“I’ll explain later. I know you’ve had some bad run ins with the remaining AIs those pretentious dicks left lying around but-

“Wait, AIs?”

“Of course. You didn’t think they were real did you?” Hawk sent him a look.

“No, but…”

“Just an AI Little Bird, don’t worry about her. She’s fine,” Hawk looked up at the gorgeous golden woman across from him, she just smiled at him.

“I will hold you an explanation,” Desmond promised and Hawk chuckled and put the bow back. “When did you build this thing?”

“Mmmm,” Hawk actually thought and pulled open a door with the label EA81 on it and pulled out a small box. “Early eighteenth century,” he said thoughtfully.

“Wow really?”

“Yeap. Well. The vault was already here, it was why we were here. Big Eagle discovered it in the fifteenth century, only they didn’t know how to open it.”

“You did?”

“I did indeed. I had an Apple,” he busily put some things from the box he’d pulled out into his bag. “That’s the key. It’s always the key. The fucking ancients used them for everything from controlling their slaves, us, by the way, to locking their homes. It was a teaching tool and a shield, the only thing it wasn’t was a weapon. When the Big Eagle showed me it I could open it. I then took two human life times to hide it, used local labor and my own hands to make sure it could never be opened unless I did so.”

“Wow. Amazing.”

“Yep,” Hawk put the box back.

“And Venus?”

“She came with the box. Pretty isn’t she?” and Venus giggled.

“Yes,” Desmond had to agree. Hawk gently grabbed his elbow and pulled him onto a piece of floor that wasn’t the white of the rest of the vault, but rather a darker gray color.

“So now, only my Apple opens the vault, only my voice can control Venus, unless I say otherwise, and only my print can open the front door,” and he pressed his hand to the side of the wall. Desmond almost lost his balance when the piece of floor started to rise, thankfully Hawk grabbed his arm to steady him.

“And you did this all in the early eighteenth century?” he gently shook Hawk off to stand on his own.

“Hey, I had an Apple. I could see the future Little Bird. I’m still waiting for the tech to catch up to my favorite time period so I can start augmenting my eyeballs without it seeming weird,” and he grinned and Desmond blanched a little. Hawk laughed. “All right, out you go,” and he ushered Desmond out of the vault. He glanced back in time to see the elevator slide into the floor. So that was why the elevator only went up. “Venus, close the door,” he called as he stepped out.

Desmond turned quickly to watch the circles- gears, he realized- click back into place and the Apple, the key, was presented to Hawk. He popped it out of the key hole and stuffed it into his bag too.

“You done Hawk?” Altair’s voice startled Desmond. He’d forgotten the others were even there.

“Yep,” Hawk said cheerfully. “Lets go. Goodbye Venus,” he called.

“Goodbye Hawk, Ezio, Altair, Jacob, and Desmond, I hope you come back soon.

“How did that thing know my name?” Desmond heard Jacob ask but he wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at Venus, who appeared to stand on the ground, so unlike Minerva and Juno who liked looking tall and intimidating, floating over nothing.

“Goodbye Venus,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, a radiant smile that made his chest _ache_ in a way he didn’t want to admit was familiar. “ _We’re watching you grow Desmond_ ,” and he was startled so badly he almost fell on his ass.

“Desmond, you okay?” Ezio was at his elbow.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Desmond stammered and quickly following the others, casting one last look over his shoulder at Venus and her radiant smile.

 


	24. Seven Ulama

The trip out of the labyrinth seemed to take less time than it had getting in. Before they left the basement the older assassins quickly reminded both Desmond and Jacob what to do. They were going to go first, Jacob walking by himself, Desmond invisible. It was slightly risky, but no one had really seen Jacob coming in so it wouldn't be as dangerous, since everyone had been too focused on not looking at the three Masters. The other three would follow after, one at a time, and meet them outside, a few blocks away. Jacob nodded, as did Desmond.

"So no stupid questions?" Ezio asked.

"Can I have my own bike next time?" Jacob asked smartly. Desmond gave him a playful shove and rolled his eyes.

"He said no stupid questions Stray. Now go," Hawk huffed. Jacob made a face at them and walked up the one landing to the first floor. Almost immediately he closed the door again, having not gone out.

"We have a problem," he said, voice an entire octave higher than usual and started back down the stairs towards them.

"What is it now?" Altair sighed.

"Assassins."

"No shit."

"No, I mean, Assassins!" and Jacob was suddenly running past them as the door above opened.

"Halt!" someone above yelled.

"Shit," Hawk cursed and they ran, grabbing Jacob along the way and leading him through the basement. Behind them came at least three Assassins in suits.

"We have to go up," Ezio said, and then dragged them all to a stop and shoved them into the elevator.

"Ezio what the hell are you- fuck!" Desmond jumped when something seemed to explode from within the top of the elevator as it dinged and started to rise before halting midway between floors. He looked at Hawk who was holding a strange artifact. It was shaped like a pear and fit perfectly in the palm of his hand and was black with blue cut grooves. Desmond would wonder what it was another time though.

"When the doors open, just run," Ezio said. "Jacob, you especially, you can't fight. Desmond..." he looked at Desmond, "Don't make us have to break you out," he said seriously.

"I won't," Desmond promised.

"Good, we're going to draw their attention. Just get out and don't let them get him either since he's still useless in a fight," he added to Desmond about Jacob. Desmond glanced at Jacob before nodding.

"Okay, Lets go than," Hawk said and the pear shaped thing pulsed and the elevator began to rise again. As it did Desmond watched his ancestors arm themselves. Ezio drew no less than five throwing knives from seemingly nowhere, his specialty (aside from the duel hidden blades, while Hawk and Altair preferred the singular). Hawk put his bag behind him after drawing out what looked like a long, telescoping, white cane that was obviously not of this civilization from how it seemed to gleam. Altair didn't take out anything, but that was enough and more terrifying than if he'd actually drawn a weapon. Altair told him once that using weapons made things easy and made you soft, because it was almost too easy for him to gut someone without a thought. If he used his hands though it was a challenge and it also meant he didn't have to worry about the drag of a blade, just the cruel efficiency of his hands and the weapons he picked up from his enemies. As it was all he wore was a hidden blade. Desmond had never seen him use it for real either, only in practice with him.

The elevator dinged and the doors slowly slid open. Before them were several dozen assassins, all armed with billy clubs, batons, or knives. At the front of their group Altair cocked his head to the side. "You should really put those down before you hurt yourselves kids," he said and Desmond knew he was smiling, he always smiled just before what would turn into a blood bath, though no one moved. They were all well trained and knew better than to answer an intruder. "If it means anything we are sorry for this," Altair said and there were six thuds, six assassins looked down at their chests and saw a single throwing knife sticking out of their chests. They collapsed a moment later.

One could call what was next a panic. Hawk darted forward with Ezio, around Altair and cut down another four before anyone quite knew what had happened. Then it started and the assassins started fighting back. "Don't forget what we said," Altair said obviously speaking to Desmond and Jacob before slowly leaving the elevator and in a blink of an eye had disarmed an assassin and shoved his own blade strait through his skull without even breaking stride and moved on to the next one.

Desmond couldn't even move for a moment then his instructs kicked in. "C'mon," and he went to leave. Jacob however was frozen, watching what would become a massacre. "Jacob, we have to go," and he grabbed Jacob's arm. That broke his trance and he stared at Desmond. "Lets go," and he pulled Jacob. Jacob stumbled forward a few steps before he got his feet up under him and followed after Desmond who was running towards the door a hundred feet away.

"Des!" Jacob suddenly grabbed him, making him come to a stop, which was good because he ended up not getting shot. Desmond stared at where the bullet dinged off the wall and then where it had come from to an assassin, looking a bit wide eyed at who he'd almost just shot.

He didn't have time to contemplate his mistakes though as Hawk jumped him and used the, stick really, to slash at him, the white surface came away bloody and Desmond realized that it was a sword of some sort though looked more like a walking cane. Hawk slashed again and the man went down, one leg cut off at the knee.

The gunshot seemed to be a cue the other assassins were waiting for, like they'd needed permission, and then the firearms were brought out. Hawk looked at Desmond and Jacob motioning for them to keep going. Desmond grabbed Jacob by the arm and they took off but only made it another few dozen feet before being shot at. He dragged Jacob to behind the guard desk and they ducked to avoid the gun fire.

Slowly, Desmond peered over the top of the desk and saw more Assassins coming out of the elevators and the stairs. It was absolute chaos with his ancestors in the thick of it, gunshots going off every now and then. The thing was though that Desmond somehow just knew these guys here weren't their best, weren't even high up on the totem pole. Full Assassins or Masters would never be using guns, and one would never have actually shot Desmond. He knew he was too important for them to accidentally shoot him.

Then the larger group of fodder suddenly cleared out and the three Masters were left, standing amid a tangle of corpses that carpeted the entire floor. Ezio had gone for this twin hidden blades, Hawk still had his cane-sword, and Altair had picked up a night stick at one point, all of them were covered in the dark stain of blood. In front of them now were about two dozen men and women who carried themselves like Desmond knew real fully trained, fully capable Assassins did. The cavalry had arrived.

"Oh this isn't fair," they heard Hawk say. "Us against only you guys?" his accent was particularly thick now, as if brought on by the blood.

"Hardly a challenge really," Ezio agreed, and Desmond could hear his sneer. He knew Ezio had an ugly sneer, like Altair's delighted smile, that came out in battle.

"Come quietly and we'll have no more bloodshed," said one of the Assassins, one of the actual competent ones, probably a Master.

"And if we don't?" Desmond blinked because Altair was speaking Arabic.

"We'll be forced to use force. You won't like that," said the Assassin grimly, their own Arabic stained with accent that sounded… French. Desmond instantly disliked them.

Altair's grip changed on his night stick, fingers flexing, then tightening, "Actually, I think I will." He pointed the night stick at the group of Assassins, "None of you are making it out of this with your lives if you try to stop us, I hope you've made peace with your God," he said almost cheerfully.

"Take them," said the Assassin, obviously the leader. The others rushed from around him and Desmond's ancestors danced. That was the only way to describe the way they moved, able to bend and twist and always be just out of the way of an Assassin's blade. Then the first one fell from a blow by Altair's night stick and he heard someone next to him hiss. Desmond turned and saw Jacob next to him wincing before turning back to the fight, unable to look away as another Assassin fell, and another and another, all the while his ancestors kept a steady pace towards the door where once outside would be able to run and...

Desmond's eyes widened. They weren't thinking that Desmond and Jacob were still here, they thought the two had already gotten away. Then the flurry passed by the guard station and they were suddenly trapped. Desmond looked over at Jacob who was staring at him, having come to the same realization. They couldn't leave now, they'd get caught in the massacre, which was really what it was, Assassins continuing to drop, and once it was past they'd have no way to get out.

Thy both flinched and ducked when someone hit the guard station. Desmond peered up carefully and saw Altair standing over someone, and with quick efficiency knocking them in the head so they didn't get up. Then Altair's eyes met his when he looked and the old Assassin's eyes widened, his smile vanishing as he realized they were both still here. Desmond sent him an apologetic look, trying not to feel guilty, but doing so regardless. He looked between him and Jacob, eyes resting on Jacob last and frowning deeply before turning away abruptly and dropping the night stick and for the first time actually drawing his hidden blade.

The change was instantaneous as Altair went from beating and perhaps not killing to outright slaughtering. It was all some Assassins could do to get their defenses up before he cut them down on the next strike. Desmond knew how to fight with a hidden blade, it was a more defensive weapon as it was hard to get right in there like a sword could, that and it was easier to learn since Ezio fought defensively. Altair fought offensive and fast and it stole Desmond's breath to watch him rain down death.

"Desmond," he jumped when Ezio suddenly spoke into his ear. He hadn't even noticed that Ezio and Hawk had left the fight, his and everyone else's attention was focused on Altair as he killed. It wasn't even fighting now, it was just killing. "Desmond, we have to go," and he grabbed Desmond's arm. Ezio's hands were covered in blood, his shirt sleeves stained as well so it looked like he was wearing red gloves.

Desmond nodded and let Ezio usher him out of the guard station, keeping low and out of sight. Then they were half running towards the door Hawk and Jacob already outside.

They were ten feet from the door when they heard another gunshot. Desmond couldn't help it, he turned and froze. Altair was mostly faced towards them, and had come to a dead stop. He looked down at his chest and Desmond went white as red blossomed on his chest, turning his white shirt into a Japanese flag. Then a strange enraged look crossed his face and he attacked the Assassin next to him, cutting open his throat so deeply his head almost fell off his shoulders. Another shot rang out and Altair jerked as he was caught in the chest again by another bullet.

"Desmond. Desmond," Ezio was trying to drag him away, saying his name to get him to focus, look away, keep moving.

"We have to help him," Desmond said, barely aware he was speaking, all he was aware of was Altair had been shot and before he knew what he was doing he had broken away from Ezio, trying to get to the wounded man. Ezio tackled him to the ground.

"There's nothing you can do, we have to go," Ezio said, pinning Desmond. Altair was shot for a third time and stumbled back, actually falling.

"No!" Desmond knew he'd screamed it, because as Altair picked himself up slowly he looked back at them, eyes blank and cold with death yet glowed golden from Eagle Vision. "We have to help him... stop!" he thrashed as Ezio suddenly picked him up and bodily carried him out of the building. "Stop!" Desmond screamed again trying to fight against Ezio, who ignore him. He watched Altair bleed from his three wounds, which gushed blood and made him wear a shirt that was more red than white, his moments a bit slower than usual, but no less deadly. Then they were outside and Desmond couldn't see anymore.

"Hawk!" Ezio yelled once they were outside under the brutal and suffocating Dubai sun, the air thick and humid today. "Get him on the bike, we have to go. Now!"

"But-

"Now!" Ezio snapped, "I can't hold him, bastard," he said to Desmond who was still struggling.

"Be still," Hawk's voice ordered and Desmond stilled. "Get his Apple," Hawk said and Ezio fished it out of his pocket. Ezio got on the bike and started it. "Get on the bike Desmond," Hawk ordered and when Desmond turned around to obey he saw Hawk held his Apple, it glowed like a light show and his eyes reflected the golden light. "Hold on," and Desmond resisted for a moment before doing so. He couldn't believe he was being manipulated by an Apple, and by Hawk no less! They were going to just leave Altair in there to die!

Then wind rushed past him as Ezio gunned the engine. Desmond looked back, able to at least do that though he couldn't will his body to do much else. Hawk rode behind them on the other bike, Jacob on the back, and the entrance of the Assassins Order headquarters was swarmed with people. He knew that unless Altair wasn't able to fight anymore they'd never get near the door and the only reason Altair wouldn't be able to fight was if he was— Desmond swallowed thickly and turned back forward and pressed his face into Ezio's back as they screamed though afternoon traffic, ignoring every light and traffic law. After a few moments Desmond felt wet sting his eyes but he stamped them down, thy had a long drive ahead of them, and it wasn't time for tears.


	25. Bird on a Glass Bridge

Desmond wasn't actually sure where they finally stopped. It was a small city though, deep inland where there was nothing but sand for hundreds of miles in all directions. Desmond didn't even look as they pull up to a squat building, his face has practically been glued to Ezio's back for the past several hours. Behind them he could hear people, chattering quietly, interested in the strange people on motorcycles. The abrupt quiet of the motorcycle as Ezio turned the engine off made Desmond's ears ring.

"Desmond," his name on Hawk's tongue was enough to get him to look up from Ezio's back. Hawk never used his real name, not once, Hawk always called him Little Bird. He stared at Hawk in surprise and a little shock as the other American smiled at him, not a happy smile though, more a 'everything will be okay', smile. "C'mon," and he helped Desmond off the bike. His legs felt a bit numb, but be could walk.

"Where are we?" Jacob asked. Desmond looked around but he wasn't seeing anything, not really, he was having trouble processing what was going on.

"Not sure," Hawk admitted looking around, squinting in the bright light. Then Ezio appeared again and said he had them a room. Desmond barely saw where they were, it looked sort of like a hostel. Ezio grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him into the room, Desmond sat on the bed without a word, staring at the wall and at nothing. There were small cracks in the paint like spider webs.

"So what now?" he heard Hawk ask.

"We have to keep moving," Ezio said sounding like he was frowning.

"And Big Eagle?"

"Shot, three times, at least."

Hawk sighed, "Well that sucks. Well we have to-

Desmond stopped listening, "Hey Des," Jacob crouched in front of him. Desmond stared at him with slightly wide eyes. "You okay?" he asked and put his hand on Desmond's knee.

Desmond blinked at him and then suddenly something he'd never felt before rushed over him. It was a feeling he'd only ever experienced second hand through the Animus. A brutal, all encompassing, violent, rage. This was all Jacob's fault. He'd seen Altair's reaction when he found them behind the guard station seeming to come to a decision involving Jacob. Jacob wasn't an innocent anymore, not since he'd started training. He wasn't just any guy from Queens either, not anymore, not with what Hawk had pulled out of him. And Desmond knew Altair couldn't let go. He'd done it already and he knew after his first failure he couldn't just let things pass anymore.

He felt his face change, though didn't even know what it looked like. He didn't think he wanted to know if the way Jacob's face twisted was any indication in the instant before Desmond tackled him with a scream. Jacob yelled, sounding like for help, and Desmond felt his fist connect with Jacob's face, abruptly cutting off the sound with a crunch. His left hand was sort of half wrapped around Jacob's throat while his right just hit him again and again and again. Distantly he was aware of someone yelling, cursing and swearing and spewing hate. He was vaguely aware that the voice was him, but it felt far away, the three tongued voice voice disconnected to the him that was trying to beat Jacob's face in.

Then there were several powerful hands on him, pulling and grappling and yanking him off Jacob. Someone else was yelling but he didn't know who and even as a strong set of arms held him back he fought against them aware he was just screaming "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" at the bloody mess that had once been the New Yorker that Hawk was crouched over.

He was literally thrown into the corner of the room. Hastily he tried to get to his feet but someone shoved him down again. He stumbled back a little, his back collided with the wall and he Ezio practically on top of him, pushing him down. The immortal's body became a cage, his arms and legs bars, unmoving as they closed around Desmond who thrashed and tried to get away, still yelling. Ezio was speaking but Desmond couldn't hear or understand. He was just so angry that they'd just  _left_  Altair to die he couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't even process his grief in a constructive manner. On the road the roar of the wind and the thrum of the engine under him had numbed him to the grief, to the pain, but now he couldn't ignore it. Now it was like an ice pick to the chest.

There had been times in his life where he'd felt his entire life slip out from under him and he stood on a thin bridge made of invisible glass and didn't know which way to go to avoid falling. Those were the times he didn't know where to turn, which way to go and couldn't deal with the world and what it considered just.

The day his brother, Duncan, had died was one of those times. His older brother got beaten to within an inch of death by another boy in his class for being seen as weak. After that he'd never been the same. Duncan had healed, but he had a bad eye, left partially blind, and thus forever weak and useless in their parents' eyes. Desmond, eight years old, had been told by his parents he wasn't to end up like his screw up brother, while his brother told him not to let these people destroy him, that the world wasn't as scary as their teachers said and that it was so much bigger than the few miles around the Farm they were allowed to explore. He'd said that with a bright smile from the hospital bed, looking clean and perfect even covered in bandages, invincible. Duncan had barely gotten out of the hospital before he'd killed himself. Then his parents had turned to him and said to not end up like his brother. His brother had been fifteen when he'd cut his own throat open, much the same way Assassins killed their targets. It had left him without direction and not knowing what to do, not knowing who to listen to; a brother who loved him, or parents who were worried about enemies who didn't exist.

Another time was the day he ran away. He'd never been outside the Farm before, never known the world. There the glass bridge had been more clear, though no less easy to transverse. Forward, into the world and forget everything and everyone he'd ever met, or back to the Farm, and complete the life his brother had been too weak to run away from, but not escape. Desmond had chosen the former path, and the road from the Farm to Rapid City had been a long one. After that his life had never been the same, he had to look out for himself, because no one else would.

He'd made a life for himself, sort of. Had a motorcycle, had bartending school and almost ten years of experience at it under his belt. Sure he moved around a lot, but when someone in Omaha had recognized him once he knew  _they_ were looking for him. Then everything had become so fucked up with Abstergo. He'd tried to leave that life behind him, move forward. But the past always caught up with you. And he was faced with more questions, no answers, and no way to know which way to go that didn't lead down into the darkness over your thin bridge of existence. All he could do was feel his way out along the precarious structure and hope he didn't fall because if he did there was no one coming to save him from what was down there.

The water below the bridge took on new meaning when he'd started to see things, phantom figures and reliving events he'd never even played through in the Animus. Here if he misstepped, if he made one wrong move there really was no way back out, especially as the visions became longer, more intense and it grew hard to tell who he was and who he wasn't. He'd walked through life carefully and then had misstepped and fallen, down, down, down into a dark place, the Black Room, and the things he never wanted to see. He'd made it through that though, barely, but come out the same as before, things sometimes didn't make sense, he'd convinced himself that the first time he met Ezio hadn't been real.

He'd gotten better though.  _It_ had gotten better. His ancestors had helped him,  _Altair_  had helped him. He'd fixed it. Desmond didn't know how, but he's  _fixed_  whatever it was that made Desmond suffer from phantoms that everyone had said couldn't be prevented, only slowed. In the time since he'd left the Order (for the second time) he'd made another life, something stable. The bridge over that darkness was sturdy and he knew exactly which way to go and followed after the glowing figures who offered safety, protection, and family from a life that had been so alone and distant.

But now…

Now all he could see was the darkness yawning open beneath him again as an important support was left to disintegrate into nothing in a blink of an eyes. He'd always let people important to him go, watching them slip right through his fingers. Duncan who reminded him his parents weren't always right, Abrianna from Cincinnati who taught him how to ride a motorcycle, Jerry from Newark who could mix the driest, dirtiest, martini Desmond ever drank, and a few others from that life. Then in this life, a newer life where all the hurts were just as painful, and sharp without the blurred edges of memory to soften their pain, the ones suffered in the Animus no less painful than ones he himself suffered. He led Kadar to his death, let Malik lose an arm and then killed a man who was like a father. He watched most of Ezio's family get hanged and then almost destroy himself as he sought revenge, throwing away everything good in his life in his single minded, blind, drive for vengeance. Then he'd been controlled by something bigger than him and killed one of the few people who meant something to him, who believed in him.

Now it was happening all over again. It was all slipping away and behind him lay his perfect, sturdy, bridge, and before him was nothing but invisible glass.

He yelled at Ezio, but the man didn't move, he kicked and punched and thrashed and cursed and screamed and tried to get away, but Ezio just pressed him into the corner and took it, silent now. He didn't hold Desmond into stillness, he just kept him in place and let Desmond beat his hands against his chest in fury. His hands became sore and his throat hoarse from yelling before finally he had no anger left and he just slumped forward and into Ezio's chest, feeling his entire body heaving. The older man just wrapped his arms around him, face against his shoulder and finally Desmond could feel his tears. They were hot, like they boiled on his skin, and his face was swollen and mucus dripped down from his nose. He didn't care though and Ezio didn't seem to mind. Great, heaving, sobs wracked his entire body, a sorrow he'd never known, a grief he couldn't even articulate as he struggled to breathe, sob, and hold back the sobs all at once and wish to never breathe again.

Desmond couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, the last time he'd known this sort of grief. Duncan maybe. He hadn't really understood what had happened then though, he knew he hadn't cried though. He hadn't cried when he found out Lucy had died, he'd just woken up from a coma and was too weak to feel the complicated feelings required to grieve and he'd never been close enough to someone after Duncan to feel the pain of their deaths to this extent.

The sobs stopped before the tears in which Desmond just clung to Ezio sniffling, unable to stop the waterworks and not wanting to even if he could and trying to remember how to make his lungs work since somewhere between the sobbing and screaming he seemed to have forgotten. Now that he wasn't so wired he could feel Ezio rubbing his back gently. "It's okay Desmond," he heard Ezio say and repeat just over and over, or a variation like it, like a soothing mantra. Desmond just buried his face in Ezio's chest, unwilling to deal with anything beyond the safe embrace of his ancestor's arms, where, for just a moment, the unstable, glass, mess his life had been suddenly become seemed more manageable here.

Desmond sniffed and glanced up at Ezio who looked a bit worried, but also probably relieved he wasn't beating Jacob in the face anymore. "He's gone," Desmond said, his voice rough and unused from the crying and the way it closed around his words as though they were pain to even speak.

Ezio frowned and leaned down a bit so he spoke almost directly into Desmond's ear, "Not forever," it was barely a whisper. "Not forever."

"He got shot," Desmond sniffled, not believing Ezio.

"Shot doesn't mean dead," Ezio said gently, and Desmond imagined it was what a father would sound like when comforting their child. Desmond wouldn't know since his own had been on the side of psychopathic and had never worried about Desmond except that he went to school and training and didn't grow up like Duncan. To their father nothing had mattered but to be strong. To him nothing had mattered but that, not even his own family. "He'll be back."

"You sound so sure," Desmond swallowed a sob that threatened to break his voice, he thought he'd run out if sobs.

"I've known him a long time. He's yet to actually die on me no matter how many times he's threatened it," and Desmond was amazed when he felt himself smile a little.

"When?"

"I don't know. But trust me  _bambino_ , he'll be back. You're too important to him for him to just leave you," and Desmond's heart short of soared even though he knew Ezio was just saying that to make him feel better. He'd seen Altair get shot, three times, there was no way the Assassins would have let him live. Ezio used his own sleeve to wipe up Desmond's face, drying his eyes and cheeks and wiping his nose.

Desmond felt like he was six and needed someone to look after him, just a child, a helpless one at that. He sort of imagined that to the others he he was just that, a kid who they needed to look after and protect. At the moment that's all Desmond wanted. Someone who would take care of him instead of always having to take care of himself. Just once he wanted to be able to be weak, to let someone else care for him and not have to worry about always doing it himself.

"Where's Jacob?" Desmond asked in a soft voice, still holding onto Ezio.

"Hawk took him to the doctor, you dislocated his jaw and probably broke his arm," Ezio said.

Desmond just blinked but didn't feel guilty, he was still high on other emotions. He wouldn't have even if he wasn't though. He also didn't remember breaking Jacob's arm. "He'll live," Desmond said shortly.

Ezio chuckled, "Yes, he will  _bambino_ , no thanks to you," and he gently stroked Desmond's hair. Desmond slumped back against the wall and looked at Ezio, but said nothing, and Ezio didn't offer any words either, they just sat opposite each other and Desmond tried to sort out everything in his head before just giving up, it wasn't worth the head trauma right now. Instead he felt himself crashing, hard, worn out by the violent flux of emotions he'd just suffered through in the past hour. His head dropped down to his shoulder and his eyes slid shut, he slept. He woke for a few seconds when he felt Ezio lift him fully off the ground and put him on the bed, cot really, and sit next to him with a sigh. After that there was just blackness and the glass bridge beneath his feet.


	26. Intermission: Don't Cage the Alkonost

He blinked awake slowly. It was cold where he was, and dark and he could smell the feint scent of death iced over. He was lying on a hard metal slab with just a sheet over him. He was naked as well. Slowly he turned his head from side to side, waking slowly. He really hated when this happened, it was always disorientating, and he was hungry. They were always so hungry when they came back up. It and the cold air did nothing for his head.

Carefully he reached down and touched his chest. No marks, but he could feel where there had been impacts. Five of them on his chest, but, fifty cal maybe. His hand tingled, he must have broken it at some point, it was healed now though and he opened and closed it just to feel the newly formed muscles work under his skin. He looked to his left and almost laughed, almost. Now he knew why he was so fucking cold.

He was in a morgue.

Could be worse. He was clean, and, relatively safe, and judging from the amount of bodies on either side of him they hadn’t gotten to cutting him open yet. That would have been annoying. At least he didn’t think so. He traced down his sternum, he couldn’t feel stitches. One time on an autopsy table was enough for a life time.

He was seriously getting cold now and didn’t like it. He hated being cold. Fucking morgues.

He braced his hands on the ceiling and kicked the door open, flimsy lock catch, of course, who expected the dead to want to get out. Too bad for them he couldn’t really die. Too bad for him too he couldn’t really die. After so long death would have been welcome now.

No time to think like that though.

He slid his sled forward and sat up, his spine cracked and he groaned in appreciation as the sheet fell off his face. It was dark in the morgue, night time maybe. That was good. He was hungry. He wanted french fries and pizza.

He stopped rubbing his face, freezing and contemplated that thought. He’d seriously lived in America too long if he wanted french fries and pizza. He chuckled at the though. Clothes first though, food next. Where the hell would he get clothes in a morgue?

He slid off the gurney, fixing the sheet around his waist and closed up where he’d been for… he wasn’t even sure. Calendar was needed next. He left the morgue and walked down the short hall to a receptionist desk. Upon seeing him, the secretary in her hijab screamed. He just ignored her and as she babbled at him in Arabic he grabbed the monitor of her computer and checked the date.

Sixteen days.

Almost three weeks.

Damn.

He looked the woman over, she wasn’t part of it, she was just a civilian. Innocent. He left her where she was as she called security and walked down the hallway. He had the date. He was still hungry and still naked. Neither things set right with him.

A floor up he found someone had left a spare suit in their office. He pulled on the shirt and pants but forwent the rest, the guy was wider than him anyway. He rummaged around the desk a few moments and fitted some things together before leaving. Down the hall he found the floor lounge and opened the fridge.

“Food,” he sighed and his stomach growled. He pulled out whatever he could hold first, sat down and started to eat. He heard people moving around him but ignored them. He really hated dying. It burned through his system like a wild fire and then once he woke up again he was hungry. Though he was probably hungry for not having eaten anything for sixteen fucking days. He finally only looked up when he heard guns being cocked all around him.

He lifted his head slowly, chewing someone’s pork chop labeled for tomorrow, someone’s lunch obviously. All around him stood men and women in black, assault rifles pointed at him. He just smirked at them and went back to eating, humming a little under his breath, not at all worried about his life. If they wanted to kill him they’d have done it by now. Not that it would have meant anything of course.

“So,” Altair said, speaking Arabic just because it was probably they all spoke it, they were in Dubai, “You found me. Not surprised,” and he shoved another piece of pork into his mouth, finishing it up and pushed it aside, sitting back in his chair with an easy demeanor. They all trained their guns on him when he moved. He laughed a little and raised his hands, “Hey now kids, I’m unarmed,” all he was holding was a fork.

“Stand up,” someone said. Altair stood and they shifted warily, though kept their muzzles pointed at him. “You’re to come with us,” they said.

“Right, right,” he dusted some non existent lint off his borrowed shirt. “Tell me one thing first. Am I the only one?” they blinked at him and Altair let his eyes shift into the other sight. A ring of red surrounded him, and he flicked over each one of them and knew if he wanted to he could just walk away without blood shed. He really didn’t feel like getting all bloody right now, he’d just woken up in a morgue for goodness sake and was sterile and clean. He set the fork down and they all flinched towards him. “Oh,” Altair said in understanding, “You all know huh,” he smirked, amused. “Or heard the rumor probably. A lot of your friends are dead, because of me and mine, well, a lot of me, but who’s counting.

Someone lost their nerve and a shot rang out. Altair looked down. “You stupid kid,” he said in an exasperated tone, he’d been shot. “I really fucking hate guns,” and in the next second he’d turned, ripped a gun out of the man behind him’s hands and smashed him in the face with the butt of it before he dropped. Bullets flew and Altair ducked under the table. He disassembled the gun in seconds and dove for legs, knocking three over and then leaving the lounge at a stroll, hissing as he looked down at his new wound.

“Halt,” someone yelled.

“Kid, I just got shot. You don’t wanna piss me off right now,” Altair called back, not stopping, and then he was surrounded. Again. He sighed. “You really want to do this the hard way?” he asked and suddenly had a knife in his hand, he’d stolen it from one of the men he’d tackled.

“You’re to come with us. The Master has questions.”

Altair sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, that isn’t going to happen,” and he flipped the knife in his hand before attacking.

—

Altair came to again in a bright room handcuffed to a metal table. They hadn’t bound his feet though and he could still move his fingers, that was their mistake obviously. He flexed his hands and the cuffs rattled against the table, shifting in his seat as he did so. The table and chair were stainless steel and bolted to the floor. Okay, maybe not all around dumb. Across from him was a large one way window, the mirror facing him showing him his figure.

He quickly recalled what had happened. He’d killed five of them before someone got off some stun plugs. Under normal circumstanced he could shake those off. Then he’d been bombarded by more and had gone down, too much electricity partially frying his newly up and running nervous system. He wasn’t hungry. So he hadn’t died again. Small miracles. He was stuck here though. Inconvenient.

Still he could be worse, he could have failed. He could have failed the one thing he’d promised he’d never fail in and let him get captured. Altair would rather die before he let the Order sink their teeth into him. The Templars had been a necessary evil, something to get the ball rolling. Then the Order had saved him, not that it was too different than the Templars. They’d been closing in on the first location in New York but the Templars beat them to it and then they’d lost that stupid cell as they jumped continents over a cargo tanker owned by the Order. It hadn’t taken a genius to guess where they were going so they’d lied low, and waited.

Then they’d gone to one of the smaller European cities, where the Order owned the entire city down to the railway worker supervisors. That had been risky, but in the end that blonde hadn’t made it and once Desmond was out of his coma they’d plucked him right out from the Order’s greedy fingers.

Altair had been afraid when he heard the younger man had slipped into a coma. A coma while the Apple lay clasped in his hand in a death grip. He had flashbacks to Micheal and Ezio, but Desmond didn’t go under, he was stronger than that. At least he wouldn’t suffer as he, Ezio, and Micheal suffered, at least that was something.

He knew people were moving behind the glass and his sight flickered and blazed. Nothing was hidden to him and what little shadow there was seemed to vanish and the mirror faded into plain glass so he could see into the room beyond. He grinned slightly at seeing them talking but couldn’t hear them. That didn’t mean he didn’t know what they were saying. At his age he could read just about any lips in any tongue. It sort of happened when you knew most world languages.

“Well as ordered, here he is sir,” said a dark skinned man with a big wide nose.

“Who is he?” asked a pale man with tiny eyes.

“No idea,” said Big Nose.

“Where’s Austin?” he was pretty sure it was Austin, names you could only read were harder to guess than regular words.

“He should be here any second,” said Big Nose and they stood in silence for a few seconds till turning away. Little Eyes and Big Nose were blocked by the back of their heads but Austin was fair game still.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he said rapidly and Altair imagined a breathy voice. “Logistics just got back with the results.” One of them said something, Altair didn’t know quite what though. “We don’t know,” Austin admitted with a slightly sheepish look. “They found over a dozen passports and birth certificates. He could be any if them,” and they all looked at him. Altair just raised his hand and waved. That startled them.

“He can’t see us right?” Big Nose asked.

“No, of course not, this is one way glass,” said Little Eyes.

“Then why is he looking at me?” Big Nose asked.

“You’re being ridiculous, he can’t see us,” Little Eyes waved off his concern. “So what _do_ you know about him?”

“Well, he should be dead for starters,” Austin said. “He was shot at least five times with a fifty before someone knocked him out the first time and we thought he was dead. That was after he killed fifteen of our Masters,” Austin frowned at Altair. “He got shot again earlier, but he’s been patched up so he shouldn’t bleed out,” Altair hadn’t even noticed, “I don’t know who he is, but he’s deadly and somehow alive.”

“You said he got shot by a fifty?” Big Nose asked.

“That’s what the guys at the infirmary said before we sent him down to the morgue,” Austin said. “three in the chest, one to the flank, last one in the back, should have blown holes in him bigger than your fist. He doesn’t have a mark on him, other than some old scars,” Austin seemed like he couldn’t even believe what he was saying himself.

“And you have no idea who he is?”

“Nope. All the passports check out too. He’s got a good forger because the paper trail is perfect.”

“That isn’t good,” Little Eyes said. They were all silent then and looked at Altair. Something must have sounded over an intercom because he then went on, “Well, you heard orders, lets play ball then,” and he motioned for Big Nose. They left the room and Austin leaned forward.

“Who are you?” he asked the glass and Altair grinned at him.

“You’ll find out soon,” Altair answered him and the man recoiled as if Altair had hit him and not just spoken to him. A door opened in the wall and Big Nose and Little Eyes walked in. Altair blinked away his second sight and slumped into the chair, appearing smaller than he had been, watching them with his amber eyes from under his brows.

Little Eyes sat, Big Nose stood just behind him. In the time it took them to do that Altair already had thought up five ways to kill them both, had his hands not been shackled. “Hello there,” Little Eyes said. “I hate to have to lock you up, but we know you’re dangerous,” Altair said nothing. “So, we can do this two ways. The easy way, or the hard way,” he seemed smug. Altair remained silent. “I would suggest the easy way myself. Why don’t you tell us who you are?”

Altair said nothing still. “He asked you a question,” Big Nose said.

“I heard,” Altair said softly and put his hands in his lap. They hadn’t changed his clothes, good. He probably should have done this sooner, but he’d been distracted. It happened sometimes. He was immortal, not a god (despite what a few cultures had thought otherwise).

“Well?” Little Eyes demanded. Altair shifted in his seat as if trying to get into a more comfortable position undoing his zipper as he did.

“Well?” Altair asked right back.

“Your name,” he demanded.

“Altair,” he said and effortlessly fished a thin strip of metal, a paperclip he’d stolen from the desk, out from the hem and slid it into the hole of his right cuff. Only his wrist moved hidden by the table.

“Altair? That’s quite a name,” Little Nose said, he seemed pleased Altair was cooperative. “Altair what?”

A smirk crossed his face. “I forgot,” he said.

“Forgot?” Big Nose asked confused and as he spoke Altair twisted the slip of metal and felt more than heard the lock click.

“Yeah, forgot,” Altair nodded. “You could say, I’m a son of none,” that didn’t set off any bells. It wasn’t a surprise. After Ezio most of the old Grand Masters had been forgotten by history. It didn’t hurt that they’d lost Masyaf to the Templars.

“What were you and your accomplices doing in the building Altair?” Little Eyes asked and click went the other cuff lock.

“Nothing important,” Altair said. “Anything else before we’re done here?” he asked in an aloof, bored, manner. His mind whirled, thinking of his exit strategy.

“What makes you think we’re done? We’re just getting started Altair.”

“Of course we are,” Altair said and raised both hands, the cuffs falling away.

“Shit!” Big Nose yelled and before the sound had faded Altair had lurched across the table and snapped Little Eyes’s neck in one smooth, perfectly practiced, motion. He fumbled for his gun but Altair was on him, twisted the gun right out of his hand and then shot him against his temple. His head popped like a grape and the bullet smashed against the ground after having gone through and through. It hadn’t taken more than five seconds, probably less. Altair spun the handgun in his fingers in an amused way and reached down to do up his fly before turning to the glass, eyes flashing gold.

“I know you’re there Austin,” he said and watched the man stiffen. He walked right up to the glass. “I’m going to get out of here,” he said in a quiet, conversational, voice. “I can do it the easy way, or, I can do it the hard way. What do you say?”

“What are you?” Austin asked though Altair could see him shaking a little. The kid wasn’t going to help him, he knew that much.

Hard way, which was still easy, just not the easiest. “For you? I might as well be a God,” he said raising the gun up to the glass.


	27. Length of a Wing

It was always hazardous to wake up from a nightmare. Desmond had them often enough, it was hard not to after everything he’d been through, everything he’d seen. There was so much blood on his hands and he couldn’t even think of what he’d do if he ever thought too long on it. Desmond woke from his nightmares confused. He didn’t know where he was, sometimes when he was or who he was. He didn’t fear his sanity slipping, because it never had. But sometimes he dreamed he was Altair, or Ezio, and there was nothing for it. Those were his memories as much as they were the elders’.

Desmond had dreamed of blood, not exactly rare. But usually the blood was through a secondary lens. This time it wasn’t as he watched, outside his own body, as he was filled with golden light and stab Lucy through the stomach. Guilt curled in his stomach watching it. Guilt and fear and loss. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, he’d never wanted her or anyone to get hurt because of him. He’d tried to grab her, stop the blood and keep her from dying, keep her from _leaving him_ like everyone he cared about did. They always left, or he had to leave them, or were taken from him. He wouldn’t let that happen again. No. No. He wouldn’t.

Lucy dissolved in his arms like the unwinding data of the Animus before he watched as Altair was shot. This time it was even worse as blood got everywhere. His shirt turned red and blood seeped into the world. When Desmond looked down at his hands he saw he held the gun.

That was when he woke. He opened his eyes and sat up slowly, figuring where he was. Around him he heard the familiar noises of his ancestors and their Stray.

They were in a city on the coast of Pakistan. They’d crossed over into Iran the week before from Dubai and then had ridden from there to Pakistan, sticking close to the coast. Hawk had announced they were taking a ship to their next destination. Neither he nor Ezio had mentioned Altair in over a week.

Not that Desmond blamed them of course, not when he’d flown off the handle when they did. As it was the Stray’s arm was in a makeshift cast and his face was still purple and green and yellow around the edges and he was now missing a tooth. Desmond couldn’t find it in himself to care. No one wanted to see Desmond lose it again. Frankly Desmond wouldn’t have minded, he had a lot of emotions that were positively suffocating him and he could use an outlet.

He saw Hawk at the table, working, half surrounded by artifacts, Apple hooked up by golden glowing wires to… seemingly himself. The Stray had his hand on the Apple: training. As useless as it was since the Stray couldn’t fight and would need to be protected anyway. Ezio was out, where he didn’t know.

“Everything okay Little Bird?” Hawk asked, not looking up from his work, eyes so gold they were yellow as he carefully went over a few artifacts, fiddling with them.

“Yeah, peachy,” Desmond said sarcastically. Hawk glanced at him.

“Ezio went to go get breakfast.”

“Great,” he was irritated from his dream but didn’t feel the need to explain himself to Hawk. The man was keeping his Apple from him as well, and Desmond felt its lack like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He didn’t hold it against Hawk, or he tried not to, since both him and Ezio were just worried about him and they didn’t want him to do anything stupid.

“We’re leaving today. Our boat’s at noon.”

“Okay,” Desmond wiped sleep from his eyes. “Where we going?”

“India, and then from there we’re taking another boat to… well, to a friend,” he smiled a little. “You’ll like him.”

“Great,” Desmond groaned tiredly and slipped out of the bed and into the bathroom to piss and wash up. As he was turning on the water he heard the Stray say something, it was in some language he didn’t know. Desmond ignored it and stepped under the spray of water.

—

Hawk had gotten them a sweet suite of rooms on the ship. Serious master bed room syndrome. Desmond had no idea that ships like it even existed outside of movies but apparently cruise ships weren’t just a dream. He was amazed Hawk had gotten them on one, especially from that Pakistani port. More proof that Hawk might be more than just an evil genius.

Desmond and Ezio were in one of the ship’s many gyms. It was late so no one else was there but them. In light of Altair’s… absence Ezio had taken over his combat training. It was like Desmond was fighting an impostor. Ezio pulled punches and Desmond actually landed hits, he wasn’t used to either of those things so was a bit at odds with how to conduct himself.

That being said Ezio still threw him on his ass more times than not. It was weird to fight Ezio like this. Because he’d first really learned to fight from Ezio in Rebecca’s Baby so it was closer to his style, only… ramped up a hundred fold since Ezio had had centuries more practice. Still, he knew how Ezio fought, and that’s made it easy. But Ezio also knew every one of Desmond’s moves and how he would use them; that made it hard.

They were both lying on their backs after a lesson, panting and sweaty. Another thing that differed from them. Ezio moved a lot, his style was about beating someone through brute force and trickery and so moved around a lot. Altair made no motions he didn’t have to and so always seemed perfectly in control and rarely broke out a serious sweat let alone started to pant.

“For a novice who’s only been doing this a few months, you’re leaps and bounds more advanced than other novices,” Ezio said easily. “Though its to be expected, but still I think you could take on a man with ten times your training,” his tone was conversational.

“That’s the point isn’t it?” Desmond asked.

“Our point isn’t to turn you into a fighting machine. We have Altair for that,” Desmond refused to flinch at Ezio saying his name. It was strange, when Ezio or Hawk ever did mention Altair it was always in the present tense, not the past, like they expected him to show up at any moment and fit back into their little group. Desmond knew it wouldn’t happen, but Hawk and Ezio were old, they were allowed to be senile. “Our point is to prepare you,” he continued, totally undeterred by Desmond’s mild uncomfortableness. It was really better they didn’t dwell on it.

“Prepare me for what?” Desmond twisted his head a bit to see his ancestor.

“Everything Desmond. This war will never be over. There will always be people like the Assassins and those like the Templars, but we and them are like smoke; we change and evolve and take on new forms and colors, though our message always stays the same.”

“What do you mean?” though he sort of understood, he wasn’t that dumb. Still, he liked to hear it explained to him.

“The Assassins weren’t what they’re called now until the eleventh century and we moved to Syria,” Ezio said. “Before we were Greek and Roman and it was more likely to find someone from the northern Mediterranean. Apparently we served under Alexander the Great and his empire. But it goes back further than that, Egypt, Sumar, according to our historian our Creed originated in Phoenicia. The ideas go back further but with the first true writing came the documentation of the Creed.”

“And the Templars?” Desmond asked quietly.

“The same. They go back millennia. Not always called the Templars, but their missions were still the same. When we get to where we’re going you can ask the historian yourself.”

“Who’s the historian? Another old should-be-dead Assassin?”

“Should-be-dead, yes…. perhaps you could call him old.”

“I will then,” Desmond said firmly.

“Speaking with him is… enlightening, and a bit terrifying.”

“He’s immortal like you?”

“In a way. Now,” Ezio sat up suddenly, “Enough talk, time to get back to your training. Hawk said he’s devised a new hunting game for us to play.”

“Oh great,” Desmond’s groaned.

“You’ll like it, we’re playing keep-away.”

“Oh?” Desmond asked as he stood up and faced Ezio’s easy, limber, fighting stance with his own deeper crouch. They were both weaponless, but each could take on a dozen men with ease, and that made them more potent than any blade. Ezio just smiled.

 


	28. Black Ibis

‘Keep-away’ was a bit of an understatement. It was another tracking game, this time it wasn’t so much keep away as it was find and protect. The Stray had been roped into the game now that he wasn’t so totally useless. He knew how to hide and sneak and really Desmond found himself slightly impressed. Hawk had said the Stray was their backup, more like a medic than anything who fought when needed but who’s main duty was just moving around without being detected.

For this game the Stray was playing ‘keep away’ by hiding from the other three somewhere on the ship. The job of the other three was to find him and bring him back to the suite. The first round they were against each other and Desmond found himself walking the same same halls of the ship straining his eyes too see the trail of blue he would leave behind. Eagle Vision was allowed, but weapons were strictly prohibited, fighting only permitted during certain circumstances. This was a game of stealth, unlike the games of manhunt back in Australia which sometimes turned into whirlwinds of blows when the offense player(s) met the defense player(s).

Desmond really didn’t care about finding the Stray, he was listening to his ear piece. All the hunters had one and it was on at all times. It gave everyone the advantage over the others if you used it wrong, but gave you a very good one if you used it right. Right now all he could hear was the soft sound of his own breathing and his shoes on the ground. It was late and most of the ship was quiet.

He pressed against the side of the wall as a door opened and a pair of girls a year or so younger than him came out of the room dressed like they were going to a club. The hell? Desmond frowned as they walked away from him, chatting about where they were going. That’s when Desmond got it. The cruise ship was like a floating city. There were clubs here, just like there were gyms, and restaurants, and everything people could need. Everything they could need. Sort of like the Farm. It had been everything the people who’d lived there had needed.

Brow furrowed Desmond continued in the same direction as the girls, just because he was headed that way. He listened to their prattle and it occurred to Desmond how fucking out of touch he was. Listening to them made him almost angry. They were both so stupid and talked about the most asinine things like their favorite bands or about some hot guy they’d seen at the pool. They had no idea what the world was like and Desmond had to force himself to take a step back. For a blind second he wanted to give them something real to talk about, something to open their eyes to the ugly side of the world that they were so woefully unaware of.

He had to remind himself that people didn’t know. They didn’t understand the unending war, nor the battle that went on every day for their continued freedom. They just didn’t _get it_ and never would. That was what the Order was for. They carried the burden, to allow the world to be free. Of course these two girls wouldn’t know and would have a much different and even petty outlook on their lives. So Desmond held himself back and was glad when he became distracted by a trail of blue, feint, but there.

He turned off the hallway the girls were walking down and continued down the new one. He pushed them out of his mind and jogged down the hall easily, following the path of blue. He frowned slightly when he came to a three way intersection and saw the blue continue in both directions. Vey obviously it was a trick but Desmond didn’t know how to really move beyond it. Also it could be one of his ancestors, not even the Stray.

Picking a direction at random Desmond continued on his way, but the trail tapered out about a hundred feet later and cursing he back tracked and went the other way. This trail didn’t fade and in fact started to grow stronger. He picked up the pace as he followed the trail, which was still feint, but slowly brightening and becoming more obvious. The trail led him up a level and then across a deck and down two decks. Several times Desmond got put off the trail by another trick like the first one but he always looped back around and got back on it. He knew he was close, because the blue was so bright it was as though the Stray had just walked here. He tried not to get too excited, because it could have just been Ezio or Hawk. But he felt that if it was them their path would have been either more or less wanderous. Either moving in a strict grid or meandering all across the ship hoping to find their prey, like Desmond had been.

The trail led outside and Desmond pushed open the door to the outer deck. Here, the trail seemed to end. What the flying fuck?

He looked around quickly and even looked over the edge but found nothing. Maybe this had been the starting point? No, that was stupid. It was too bright here. But where was he? Did he jump? No, he wasn’t that stupid, and he couldn’t climb very well with just one, not like he was… not like he was Malik. He let out a shaky breath. No. Not now. He wasn’t Altair. He was Desmond. And Malik was dead. However his bran did not obey his wishes and he had several very Altair-like thoughts one of them being ‘I am hunting an Assassin’, and ‘where would I hide?’

Slowly Desmond tipped his head back and looked up. Above him was a life raft and he had no doubt that the Stray was in there. Carefully he climbed onto the deck railing and then pulled himself up to the raft level. The raft was empty. But no. It couldn’t be. There was another raft a few feet away. Desmond jumped into the near one, the raft swung a little from where it was held and he had to crouch low to move across the raft and under the netting over it. He slipped into the next raft and was rewarded with blue. He was on the right track.

He moved from raft to raft and had crossed almost a dozen before he heard something. He ducked down under the edge of the raft and carefully peered over the edge. Staring right back at him was his quarry who glowed blue in his second sight. Neither of them moved and the Stray just stared at him. Slowly, Desmond lifted himself up. 

That was the cue and the Stray was gone like a shot, rolling right off the raft and was running. Desmond slipped off the raft and pounded after him. He was led back inside and immediately up a flight of stairs, the Stray’s sneakers banging heavily on the steps while Desmond’s own were light. He had to work at that, while he was good at hiding he was rather shit about moving stealthily at speed. Then they ran across the deck, Desmond following him through the long lines of hallways. Desmond chased but didn’t use all his speed. He’d let the Stray tire himself out. 

Desmond could feel adrenaline pricking at his senses, his heart pounding. He wouldn’t even pretend he didn’t love this feeling. This feeling of the hunt and the chase and knowing the goal was within sight. Maybe it should have freaked him out, that he enjoyed it so much, that he honestly _liked_ to _hunt_ people. But this was who he was. It was in his blood, in his very DNA and was a core piece of himself. When he’d left the Farm he’d liked to pretend this part of him didn’t exist. But the fact was that it did. It did and he liked it. The Animus had brought out what was instinct and his ancestors had been refining that instinct.

The Stray ducked down a hall and that’s when Desmond was aware of the sound of people and music. He frowned. There were more rules to this game than just hunt and retrieve. They weren’t to be seen by regular people, or at the very least not alert them to what they were doing.

“Oh that’s cheating,” he said coming to a slow stop as he watched the Stray slip into a set of blacked out doors. It was one of those fucking clubs here on board, one he’d heard those two girls talking about. He had two options. Stay out here and hope there wasn’t another exit and that the Stray would come out soon. Or go in there and get him.

Desmond pushed open the blacked out doors and felt a shock to his senses. Loud, booming music filled his head and the lights made his Eagle Vision pretty much useless. He dropped the Eagle Vision and rubbed his eyes as he made his way into the club and retreated to the sides where it was darker and could actually use his second sight without blinding himself. He didn’t find the stray there however and he realized he’d done exactly what Desmond himself would have done; lost himself in the crowd. The best way to become invisible was to just do what everyone else did, and here, that thing was to dance.

Muttering curses to himself Desmond pushed through to the writhing crowd of dancers, he moved slowly, gently pushing people out of the way scanning faces and clothes for the one person he was looking for.

He actually almost missed him because he was dancing with some girls. Desmond thought that was funny, since the Stray didn’t do girls. That was of course the reason he would have found himself there. Desmond just took on the easy stride of someone who did this all the time. It was so easy to fake something just by being actually confident about it. He slipped right into their group, “Sorry girls,” he said and looped an arm around the Stray’s waist. He felt the other man tense just slightly but the girls giggled and cooed, probably thinking it was cute. Though one of them did look annoyed that Desmond had shown up. “Gotcha,” he said into the Stray’s ear and pulled him away.

He could feel the Stray’s unease. No doubt because it was him. After all Desmond was the one who’d almost snapped his arm and was the reason it was in a brace now. He kept his arm around his shoulders and started to push towards the exit. But then the Stray dug his heels in. “What?” he asked but didn’t even know if he was heard over the music.

The Stray wrapped and arm around his neck and Desmond refrained from shoving him away when he was pulled close, almost like the other man meant to kiss him. Never again. But the Stray pushed forward and said into his ear, “Ezio’s here too.”

“How do you know that?” Desmond asked glancing around but saw nothing.

“Because I’m supposed to see more than you. You’re the warrior, I’m the watcher.”

“I’d thought you’d want to be found by someone else but me,” Desmond said lowly, but still loud enough to be heard, his tone almost dangerous.

“Lesser of two evils,” the Stray said and pulled back a bit to look him in the eye.

“Ouch,” was all Desmond said and for a split second the Stray gave a lopsided grin. He realized that the other man still had his arms around his neck, and was slowly rocking to the music. “So what are you doing?”

“Hiding,” was all he said and Desmond got it. The best way to hide was to be unseen. To be unseen you could do two things. You could quite literally hide, or you could become one with your surroundings and just do as everyone else did. You became invisible amid the mass. Ezio would be looking for two men _not_ dancing. So how did you throw off such an obvious tell?

By doing the obvious.

“You did this on purpose,” Desmond growled but allowed his body to start bobbing to the music.

“I figured if you wanted to catch me I could at least make one of you uncomfortable,” the Stray said leaning close. “Hawk and Ezio don’t seem the clubbing type.” 

Desmond just shook his head, eyes roving over the thrashing bodies around them even as he let his own loosen and further extended his perceptions that went beyond sight or hearing, both of which were rather useless in a club. But Desmond didn’t just have all the normal human senses, for what could you call Eagle Vision but a sixth sense?

Slowly they pushed their way through the crowd, Desmond sharp eyed looking for Ezio, letting the Stray lead, miming the actions of those around them, blending with the crushing mass of humanity that cloaked them in anonymity. Then they left the writhing mass and now Desmond took point and propelled them quickly out the door.

The silence on the other side of the door was deafening compared to what they’d just been through. On one end of his ear piece he could hear the music through Ezio’s end, which would do good to confuse Hawk.

“Lets go,” Desmond said and started down the hallway. The Stray trailed behind him, strangely obedient. Though he guessed that in this game Hawk had told him that once caught he was caught and to not be especially obnoxious about it. Though if it came to a fight and the combatants weren’t paying attention it’d be easy enough for him to just slip away. Fucking complicated rules.

They stopped at the bank of elevators when Desmond heard the lack of club music. He turned down the hall quickly and the Stray followed his line of sight. Ezio was walking towards them, not particularly quickly, but with obvious intent. Desmond looked up at floor number the elevator was on and breathed a soft, relieved, sigh when it was one away. The elevator dinged and Desmond shoved the Stray into the box. He quickly pressed the button for two decks below their suite. He’d send Ezio on a wild goose chase. Which was, after all, the entire point of keep-away.

A minute later the elevator dinged and they left the box, Desmond pressing several other floors, including the suite level, before exiting, since Ezio was following them, just to try and throw him off the trail. He didn’t know how well it would work, but hey, he’d try.

The Stray followed after him quietly and Desmond was so tuned into the ear piece as well as the rest of the hallway around him he almost missed when he stopped walking. But before Desmond could say anything the Stray caught up again and he heard the soft tone of Arabic on the other man’s tongue, almost a curse, but too soft to hear as they padded down the hallway. Then, almost demandingly a hand came out to grab his arm and a single word was suddenly shoved through Desmond’s head.

“Altair?” 

It shouldn’t have set him off. It really shouldn’t have. But the fact was that the Stray didn’t talk about Altair, ever. Probably for good reason since the last time had gotten him beat black and blue by an infuriated Desmond. So no, he didn’t mention Altair. Desmond was okay with the name being spoken, really he was. Ezio and Hawk said it often enough, always in the present tense, but he overlooked that. But this wasn’t just the Stray saying Altair’s name. No this was a question in the same tone that was so familiar to him it sent a crawling sensation all up his spine. It was the inflection, the way the name curled off the edge of the Stray’s tongue that caught his ear and sounded not like someone who’s native language was English, but another tongue. One far more exotic and rolling.

 For a blind second it sounded like Malik.

That was what set Desmond off.

He whirled on the Stray and slammed him against the wall, hands fisting the material of his shirt, glaring. “What did you just say?” he spat. He swore that if the Stray was messing with him he was going to lose it.

The Stray just stared back incomprehensibly, eyes wide, a little terrified. “Desmond?” he asked carefully, wary of upsetting him. The subtle inflection that had set him off at first was gone, and all that remained was the English that was touched with the New York accent, but not enough to be obvious.

He searched the Stray’s eyes for a lie, or deception, that he’d done it on purpose. But all he saw was confusion and fear about what he’d done to upset the other man so violently. Memories that weren’t his smashed against his skull like waves against a cliff. His coma in the Animus had done as much brutal harm as good and while he no longer suffered from the more deadly aspects of the Bleeding Effect, or worried for his sanity that didn’t mean he still didn’t feel it. Still didn’t have the creeping sense of another’s memories pushing against his own that often diverted his thoughts. It was what let him fight with brutal clarity, muscle memory from Ezio and Altair guiding him through the foreign motions. It didn’t help that there were other dreams too, other voices, ones that pushed at the back of his head in his sleep. The Animus had opened a gate, just a crack, and things were starting to squirm through. It probably didn’t help with Desmond’s current temperament.

There was nothing in the Stray’s eyes though except confusion and slowly Desmond loosened his grip on him and let him go. Maybe he’d imagined it. Weirder things had happened. He was surprised when the other man actually dropped, as Desmond had been holding him up against the wall, an inch off the ground. The Stray was shorter than him though, and weaker, body frail in comparison to Desmond’s which over the past few months had seemed to become broader, and definitely more muscular. He’d always been fit, though muscle had wasted away during his time in the Animus to be rebuilt by his ancestors and now he had the bulk and the power that he didn’t have before, to the point he didn’t even notice holding a man against a wall.

“Nothing,” he said gruffly and pushed the Stray in front of him as they walked back to the suite. Over the ear piece he heard someone breathing quickly, like they were running. Before him he could feel the Stray wanting to speak, wanting to ask a question, but seemingly too wary and self conscious about what had made Desmond react to actually speak again.

The walk back to the suite was silent and Desmond kept a careful listen to his earpiece. There was no sound, and all he heard was the breathing of himself and the Stray. The heavy breathing had stopped quickly, but that made Desmond wary.

“Wait,” he reached ahead to grab the Stray’s shoulder and the other man stilled. Desmond leaned around the corner and looked down the hall. “You fucking camper!” Desmond called at Hawk who was waiting not ten feet from the door.

“All’s fair in war Little Bird,” Hawk called back and was making a swift b-line towards them. Desmond grumbled under his breath but knew there would be a fight. He glanced at the Stray who seemed ambivalent, of course he was. He was just the ‘flag’ in this game, he really had no care for the outcome.

Desmond narrowed his eyes slightly and the Stray yelped in surprise when Desmond suddenly grabbed him, Hawk was only a few feet away, and he literally threw the Stray right at Hawk. Hawk wasn’t a big man, not compared to Altair or Ezio, hell even the Stray was taller than Hawk. So with now a larger mass fumbling towards him and then colliding with him there was nowhere to go but down like a sack of bricks. They both ended up on the floor in a heap, Hawk dazed from striking his head on the floor long enough for Desmond to wrench the Stray back up to his feet and drag him to the suite.

The door lock clicked as Hawk jumped to his feet and Desmond firmly shoved the Stray inside. “I win,” he chirped at his ancestor and followed the Stray inside the room. Over the earpiece he heard Hawk laugh and Ezio curse.


	29. Two Birds in a Bush

Kochi was a decent sized city on the western coast of India against the Arabian Sea. It was also beautiful and as they disembarked the massive liner Desmond found himself staring. Here in Kochi it was also near unbearably hot, muggy and the shirt on Desmond’s back quickly stuck to his skin. “Keep up Little Bird,” Hawk called jerking his head back around to see them walking away, he quickly caught up with them and followed after Hawk who seemed to know exactly where he was going. They quickly moved away from the line of tourists moving off the liner around them to a long line of cabs waiting to see if anyone would pick them. Around them Hindi was thrown around carelessly and Desmond didn’t recognize it, but he did hear a bit of English as well. He was surprised by that actually before realizing that it made sense because of the British influence on the country.

“So where are we going?” Desmond asked as they went up to the line of cabs.

“Some less crowded docks,” Hawk said and motioned the Stray forward. Desmond’s brow furrowed in confusion as Hawk said something to him, the Stray nodded and then turned to the cabbie before speaking (what sounded to Desmond) fluent Hindi. He stared.

“Where did he learn to do that?” Desmond turned to Ezio, knowing he’d know.

“Apparently he had some ancestry from India,” Ezio said with a shrug, “Hawk thought it’d be useful.” Desmond blinked at him. He didn’t quite understand what Hawk was doing to the Stray. He sort of had a grasp of it, he used the Apple similarly to how Abstergo used the Animus. But there seemed to be more there.

“So?” Hawk asked the Stray. 

The Stray blinked, confused for a moment and spouted off in Hindi for a second before stopping abruptly with a shake of his head. “Yeah, he knows where it is,” he said, in English this time.

“Great,” Hawk said enthusiastically and they piled into the cab, Desmond squeezed between Ezio and the Stray in the back seat while Hawk got to ride shotgun. Desmond looked at the two on either side of him unhappily. He really didn’t want to be jammed between the two, but he looked like he’d have to deal with it. As the cab pulled away from the curb he gave a little sigh, awesome.

—

They arrived at a smaller inlet of docks just outside of the city. Unlike the docks they’d left at the large port these were very much locally used docks. Hawk left Ezio to pay for their fare as he bounded out of the cab and went towards the building at the front of the docks. Ezio had trouble with the bills before with a sigh the Stray just yanked the wallet from his hand and paid the cabbie who gave a polite bow of his head and drove off.

“So… what’re we doing here?” Desmond asked, his question also plain across the Stray’s face as well as he looked around at the overhanging trees.

“Hawk has a boat here,” Ezio explained.

“But Hawk hates boats,” Desmond pointed out as the two younger men followed after the ancient who was walking towards the building Hawk had entered. “And planes, he hates everything that doesn’t travel on land. Why does he have a boat?”

“Because we’re going to an island,” Ezio said.

“What sort?” the Stray asked.

Ezio turned to them both, “Hawk is… a bit of a doomsday preparist,” he said, almost uncomfortably.

“You’re joking,” Desmond said dryly. Ezio shook his head. “So he has an island… for the end of the world?”

“That’s the long and short of it yeah,” Ezio said.

“He’s ridiculous,” Desmond informed him.

“We know,” was all Ezio said. “But its sort of good. Remember I told you about our historian?” Desmond nodded but the Stray just looked confused, “He’s on the island as well.”

“Oh.”

“But why are we going there?” the Stray pressed.

“Hawk and them work together closely, watching the Templars. Only they’re smarter than Hawk and he gets pissy when their tech jumps in front of his and he comes here, chews them out and then rebuilds whatever it is he’s using to be on the same line as them.”

“Well, that makes sense,” the Stray said. “But still why is an immortal a doomsday preparer.”

“Because when you’ve seen the end of the world you can prepare pretty damn well,” Hawk said suddenly, startling them all. “C’mon, they pulled her out of the dry dock,” he beckoned to them.

“So is this just your island Hawk?” Desmond asked, fully ready to tease him.

“I bought it, so yeah,” and Desmond couldn’t help it, he laughed, which was perhaps the best ribbing he could give. “Oh shut up,” Hawk muttered, ducking his head a little and Desmond could practically see a mini rain cloud form over his head in dislike.

They came to a slip where a good sized boat was bobbing in the water. It looked vaguely like a sport fisherman’s boat and without pause Hawk climbed aboard. Ezio followed after and Desmond jumped on after him. He looked back when the Stray didn’t follow. “Coming?” he asked with a head tilt.

“Not a fan of boats,” the Stray said, he was holding over his elbows staring at the boat.

“I get violently seasick, suck it up,” Hawk called from the captain’s podium on a deck above the main deck.

“We were also on a boat for like the past week,” Desmond added.

“Yeah but it was big,” the Stray frowned.

“Well, you can come on on your own accord, or I’ll pull you on,” Ezio said blandly.

The Stray gave a slight whine but nodded and shakily stepped onto the side of the boat. He looked like he was about to fall right in or the boat was about to sink. It wasn’t like he couldn’t swim so Desmond didn’t know what was wrong with him. Still, he reached up and out and grabbed the other man by the forearm, steadying him as he took the next big step down onto the desk. He looked _petrified_. “You okay?” he asked carefully, not sure he actually wanted to let go since he had a feeling if he did the Stray would bolt and be off the boat in seconds.

“No,” he said shakily.

“Take him below deck,” Ezio suggested.

“Oh no, I am not going down there,” the Stray yelped.

“Jacob its fine,” Ezio said in a calm, reassuring voice. The Stray was just shaking his head back and forth and Desmond felt him trying to pull back and away. He was really freaked out by this, he frowned in a bit of concern. What made Jacob so damn scared of being on a boat?

“This is a bad idea,” the Stray said. “Bad bad bad _bad bad bad,_ ” he just lapsed into Arabic. “ _Let go_ ,” he said and tugged at his arm.

“No,” Desmond said slowly.

“ _Let go. Oh for fuck’s sake. Let. Go,_ ” he said, almost each word punctuated by a firm tug of his arm, Desmond just tightened his grip and looked at Ezio helplessly. The Stray whined.

Desmond reached into his bag, since it was too hot to wear his hoodie, and one handed fumbled with the pocket of his back pack and pulled out the Apple. “Jacob, just calm down,” he said and the Apple glowed faintly, unseeable in the bright midday sun. “Nothing bad is going to happen,” and he knew it was only because of the Apple that the New Yorker calmed, and he stared at Desmond with wide eyes knowing he was being made to feel calm and really he might still be freaking out. It was better then him dislocating his shoulder trying to get away though and Desmond didn’t put it past him. He knew very well what sort of strength you could have when you were scared. “What should I do with him?” Desmond asked turning to look at Ezio.

“Take him below deck,” Ezio said, “It’s furnished down there,” and he beckoned to the both.

“C’mon Jacob,” Desmond gave him a gently tug and Jacob followed. He couldn’t help but feel bad for the other guy. Hawk at least could deal with his dislike of water or aircraft. Jacob was just beyond help. He led the New Yorker through the door and down few steps to below deck which indeed was nicely furnished and sat him on the bench couch.

“It’d probably be better if we just put him to sleep,” Ezio said behind him and Desmond looked over his shoulder at his ancestor. “We’re going to be underway in a minute and I don’t think it’d be good if he was awake for it.”

“Well,… I don’t want to do it against his will,” Desmond said with a slight frown.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Ezio said even as Jacob suddenly slumped over.

“Ezio!” Desmond cried.

“What?” he asked innocently and for the first time Desmond realized he was holding his own Apple. “It was for his own good.”

“You still could have let him have a say in it,” Desmond said hotly.

Ezio rolled his eyes, “He’ll thank us for it,” he said as the engines started up. “Honestly Hawk’s going to be enough of a nuisance until the Dramamine kicks in, I don’t want to deal with a vomiter and someone who might actually jump off the boat.”

Desmond sighed, “Still,” his excuse was weak and whiny.

“You can wake him up and ask him if you want,” Ezio said.

Desmond short of pouted,” Fine. It still seems like a dick move.”

“Oh, it is,” Ezio said as he climbed the stairs back up onto the top deck. “Good thing I don’t care that I am one.”

—

When Jacob woke a few hours later, as Ezio had only put him into a natural sleep, they were still on the boat. The island they were going to was almost an entire day’s journey from the mainland. Hawk told him that if he could get away with it he’d have gotten one further out, but it was insanely non fuel efficient. Hawk had thrown up within the first half hour of their trip but since seemed to have been better. Hawk wasn’t nearly as bad with boats as he was with planes so at least that was something. Still, Ezio had taken the wheel for a while, feet propped up on the wheel house.

Desmond and Hawk were down below deck when Jacob woke up. Hawk was only slightly green from the motion of the waves or whatever the fuck it was that made Hawk into a wreck when on boats. Jacob looked around with squinted eyes and Hawk didn’t give him a chance to freak out about being on a boat before sitting opposite him. “Guess what we’re doing Stray,” Hawk said Jacob now had to focus on the older man, even though Hawk looked their age as well, and not on the fact that he was on a boat. “Your Hindi came in super handy today, we we’re going to keep on with that, especially since they have a higher knowledge of medical lore,” and Hawk was fishing out his Apple.

“Where am I?” Jacob asked in what was English but in an accent Desmond didn’t recognize. “Who are you?” it actually sounded vaguely British if he was truthful.

“Doesn’t matter one way or another,” Hawk carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Now c’mon,” he coaxed and Desmond watched, slightly curious, as Jacob blinked rapidly as if getting his barring or clearing his thoughts. He frowned slightly. It all seemed very familiar to him but he couldn’t think of as to why.

“Yeah,” Jacob said, the strange accent was gone and he reached out. He rested his hand on the Apple with Hawk and it glowed for a few seconds, Hawk’s eyes flashing golden.

“So what exactly are you doing?” Desmond asked him from his seat on the bench, arms folded across his chest.

“Training,” Hawk said.

“How,” it was barely a question.

“What do you know about the Animus?”

“Please tell me that’s a trick question,” Desmond said flatly.

“Not at all,” Hawk waved his hand in front of him.

“I know it lets you relive your ancestor’s memories. And the… Bleeding Effect.”

“That’s the basics yeah,” Hawk nodded. “The Animus is incomplete tech from the Ancients,” he said, “Abstergo got ahold of a Piece of Eden, not an Apple, but something similar,” Desmond blanched at that, “But we stole it back before they could finish researching it. What they did get however was their basis for the Animus. They did what they could to make it work, but a lot of test subjects failed before they got it, mostly, right.”

“You mean like Subjects One through Sixteen?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head.

“No,” Hawk shook his head. “This research has been going on since the late sixties. There’ve been hundreds of test subjects. They started properly numbering them when they got it to work well enough that they didn’t die instantly or within minutes of entering the Animus. Subject One was named Carl Baker, an Assassin from Iowa. He lasted three days before he went brain dead. The Templars considered that a success. Subject Two was named Nancy O’Hare, she came to Abstergo two years after Subject One, she didn’t die in the Animus, but she didn’t prove useful and the Templars killed her after two months,” and Desmond shuttered at the thought. “On and on it went to you, Subject Seventeen.”

“Is there an Eighteen?” Desmond asked quietly.

Hawked grinned ruefully, “Not yet, but I’m sure there will be,” he didn’t sound pleased. “They used different Subjects for different things. Subject Four killed the last Mentor, he was a sleeper agent for the Templars, his only goal was to kill the Mentor.”

“He’s still alive?” Desmond was surprised.

Hawk nodded, “We’ve been keeping an eye on him, as we do any of the Subjects, for as long as they’re alive at least. He Bleeds, badly, and no one can help him. All that can fix what incomplete and half jarry rigged Ancient tech is real Ancient tech,” Hawk frowned deeply. “I’m honestly surprised he’s lasted this long, though that might be that he’s just stopped being Daniel all together,” he got thoughtful for a second. “I don’t remember who he was Bleeding through though, some Russian. Nice sorts, the Russian Assassins,” he shrugged.

“Are there other test subjects who are still alive?” Desmond asked.

“Three or four, including you. Most of them Bleed through, end up getting themselves killed. But like I said, the Animus is incomplete tech,” Desmond nodded. “The Apple isn’t, it’s genuine. Now, all Pieces of Eden produce Bleeding on some sort or another. Like if you pick up a Sword you’ll start to become a better leader or swordsman. The Shroud can let you relive the sensations of those who’ve used it. I could go on, but those are just some examples of extreme Bleed. Usually Pieces of Eden don’t Bleed much. Like the Apple, it barely Bleeds at all, its pretty safe, at least in the right hands, or if you don’t use it. Which really is the kicker, you use one of these bastards and it starts scraping around in your noggin,” he tapped his temple with the end of his middle and forefinger.

“So you’re doing exactly what the Assassins did to me,” Desmond said.

“Yeah, only this is controlled,” Hawk said. “The Animus rips up your brain and starts rewiring without discrimination, it makes pathways that shouldn’t be there and effectively starts turning your brain into a poached egg. This, however,” he tapped his Apple with his hand not holding onto it, “makes new connections where I want them to be, also the Bleed is minimal. By this time with you you were seeing shit, screaming in your sleep, having trouble telling realities apart, or knowing who you were. The Stray isn’t like that.”

“How do you know? I mean, about what I was like,” he said.

Hawk smiled, “You think you do something and we don’t know about it Desmond?” he asked and Desmond pouted at him, Hawk just laughed. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you since you were born.”

“You have?” Desmond perked up, he’d never heard this.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Well, really before you were born, your mom was very adamant about not having more children after your brother,” he frowned, Desmond sunk into himself slightly, he didn’t like being reminded of Duncan. “Thankfully accidents happen,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve always sort of been around, never close enough to see, but close enough to have an eye on you, even out in the middle of the Black Hills.”

“Why?”

Hawk sighed, “We’ve been waiting for you. Especially Altair,” Hawk puffed out his cheeks, he looked like a chipmunk, “Ezio told me once that a few centuries ago he was weirdly obsessive,” he chuckled at Desmond’s face, “Nothing like that,” he added to assure him. “But he’s better at using the Apple or any Piece of Eden then even me,” he nodded.

“Well, he does have, what, seven hundred years on you?” Desmond teased. Hawk laughed again with a nod.

“Before you were born Altair vanished for a few years. He does that though, I think he went to go visit your Farm, see if the one he was waiting for was there. Don’t know though, he could have gone back to his homeland for a few years. He’s real finicky about returning to Syria every century or so. He visits what’s left of Masyaf and the library.”

“He does? That’s sort of cool,” Desmond said, “But why am I so special?”

Hawk made another face, “It’s… complicated,” Hawk said at length. “I only know part of the picture, as I’m rather shit at history of looking into the past. I know it has to do with bloodlines though, and the Ancients, and it’s your blood that makes you so special, that makes you just _click_ with Pieces of Eden in a way that’s been like no one else except for your brother.”

Desmond swallowed. Hawk had said that Altair was waiting for someone like him. “So Duncan could have been in my place?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“He could have. But we knew he wouldn’t be.”

“So you knew he’d kill himself?”

Hawk didn’t answer right away. He knew Desmond was still an open sore about Altair and mentioning dead loved ones might not be a good idea. Desmond stared at him hard. “Not at first, but yes,” he said after a long silence.

Desmond looked away and stared at the side of the boat. Hawk said nothing.

“So you let him kill himself,” Desmond said softly.

Hawk scowled, “It isn’t like we were happy about it either Little Bird,” he pointed out. “It was a calculated loss.”

“You let him kill himself!” Desmond snapped at his ancestor.

“Because if he didn’t die you would have been lost to us!” Hawk snapped right back and Desmond leaned back, taken aback. “If your brother hadn’t died you would have stayed on the Farm, you would have become _one of them_. You think it was easy for us to decide that his life was worth less than yours? He was of our blood too. Don’t be so selfish,” he glared. Desmond blinked at him, he honestly hadn’t been expecting that. “The fact was though that while your brother could do everything you’d be able to do he never would. He was a pacifist, you know that, you have to know that. You aren’t. You’re like _us_ ,” and Desmond felt a chill roll down his spine. “You would do what was required. I know I sound like your father, but your brother was too weak to stand in your place.”

Desmond sat there, stunned. He didn’t even know what to say. That was on top of the fact that Hawk was more than a bit scary when he wanted to be. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Hawk waved off his apology. “I didn’t mean to snap,” he added. He sighed, “If it means anything, we would have wanted him to live too.”

Desmond squeezed his eyes shut, but didn’t answer. They sat in silence for a long while. Desmond couldn’t bring himself to speak, and Hawk didn’t seem to have much to say either anymore. After a while Ezio came down to them, the boat moving slowly through the water and called Desmond top side to drive for a while. Desmond left Hawk and Jacob where they were and followed dutifully after Ezio, saying nothing to the Bostonian.


	30. Owl Wise

The island was like something out of a movie. It was dense with trees with cliffs wrapping half around the island while the rest was sandy beach. A long dock came out to the deeper water where they could pull the boat up to. As soon as they did so Hawk opened the door to the lower area and like a blur Jacob was on the dock. He’d been conscious the last twenty minutes or so and they’d had to lock him down below for fear of him jumping over board. Desmond didn’t get it, but Hawk had weird habits too with his insane sea and air sickness. That thought ticked at the back of Desmond’s mind but he ignored it, having to help Ezio and Hawk tie the boat off as on the docks Jacob was puking his guts out into the ocean. At least he’d waited till he was _off_ the boat.

Once the boat was tied off Desmond scrambled onto the dock and looked at the island. It was like a jungle and he already knew it was probably going to be disgustingly warm and wet in those trees and that he would be training in them. Great. Over the tree line he could see the peak of a roof coated black with solar panels and leading off from the dock was a stone path into the jungle.

“It’s always so hot here,” he heard Ezio groan.

“It’s nice,” Hawk retorted. “C’mon, he’s probably expecting us,” and he set off down the dock.

“Who?” Desmond asked as he helped Jacob up off the dock. He was really pale and looked like he needed an IV drip and a nap. Knowing Hawk he probably had a way to get the New Yorker both those things.

“The historian, you’ll see,” Ezio said cheerfully and set off after Hawk briskly.

“Can you walk on your own?” Desmond asked Jacob.

“Yeah,” he mumbled and pushed off him, stumbling after the two ancients. Desmond followed after him and honestly hoped he didn’t collapse. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to carry Jacob’s fat ass, but really he was worried. When they entered the shade of the trees he seemed to have gotten his legs under him fully though and walked without wobbling.

As they walked the path he thought about who the historian could be. Ezio hadn’t told him, he said he wanted it to be a surprise, and that Desmond would probably like whoever it was. Well. Maybe. He’d been a bit unsure about that. When he’d said that for an insane second he’d thought it would be Altair. But that was impossible. Altair was _dead_. Dead was dead and while he knew his ancestors were long lived he didn’t think they could come back from the dead zombie or vampire style. Even in movies and stories when immortal things died that was it. Sure they were hard to kill, but they usually stayed dead. But Ezio had talked about the historian in the present tense and he’d said the historian was someone who was ‘supposed to be dead’. Well… there were a lot of people who were supposed to be dead he guessed. Some old guy? Another of his ancestors maybe? That actually made a lot of sense. Or maybe just another Assassin. Probably an Assassin as he had the feeling that if a Templar ever managed to gain immortality his ancestors would have taken care of it. Right?

By the time they came up to the house he still hadn’t managed to divine the identity of the historian. Well, he’d be surprised then! He wondered what they were like. Hawk opened the door, it wasn’t locked (why would it be, honestly?) and there was a man standing in the foyer waiting for them—

“Subject Sixteen?” Desmond heard himself ask, his feet suddenly nailed to the floor. There, standing on the hardwood, breathing and alive and everything, was the Animus’ ghost; Subject Sixteen. His hair was still blonde but it wasn’t slicked back like he’d been in the Animus, but was longer and in a pony tail. His eyes though… his eyes were still the same as they had been in the Animus. Blue and tipping back and forth between sanity and madness. He seemed… calmer though, as if he had some sort of deep inner peace so that when he smiled welcomingly at them it didn’t send a shiver down Desmond’s back like the last time he’d seen that smile. In fact, it was pretty friendly.

“Knew you’d show up sooner or later,” Sixteen said mellowly, amazingly together, he was grinning at Hawk cheekily now. Hawk was scowling at him.

“Wait,” Desmond interjected before anyone could say anything at all. “How the fuck are you _alive_?” he demanded, “You died.”

“Well, we all do do that,” Sixteen agreed with a half mad grin.

Ezio clapped a hand on Desmond’s shoulder, “Told you, someone who’s supposed to be dead,” he ruffled Desmond’s hair.

“But…but… how? Lucy told me you died! Everyone said you were dead… how-

“Woah, calm down there,” Sixteen said. “I think someone has to do some explaining and I really don’t want it to be me.”

Ezio chuckled, “I will, lets go sit down though. I still have sea legs,” and they left the foyer.

“Stray, you coming?” Hawk asked and Desmond turned around. Jacob was just standing in the door way, his eyes closed tightly. “Oi, Stray,” he called again and after a second Jacob opened his eyes. He looked at them, then at Subject Sixteen and took a deep breath before following them.

“Sorry,” he muttered and they went and sat in the living room.

“Explain,” Desmond demanded once they were sitting and stared Ezio down. Ezio looked unaffected.

“Well, this is Clay, our historian.”

“Clay? Your real name’s Clay?”

“You thought my name was Sixteen?” he asked right back.

Desmond waved him off, he was still obnoxious like the Sixteen he knew though he had a feeling Clay was not everything he appeared. “How is he alive?”

“Well, in a way, he’s like us,” he motioned to himself and Hawk. “Immortal.”

“But?”

“It’s… different,” he said at length and Desmond had a feeling he was missing a serious piece of the puzzle.

“How?”

“Well, for starters,” now Hawk interjected, “everything that made him was because of the Animus.”

“But you said it was incomplete tech.”

“It is,” he said, “That’s why it’s different. The Animus rewrites memory cells right?” Desmond nodded. “Well, imagine what would happen if you became immortal from something that can rewrite entire parts of your brain?” Desmond just furrowed his brow. Hawk sighed, “He’s warped.”

“Hey!” Clay interjected.

“You are,” Hawk sent him a look. “It basically opened the flood gates. Blondie’s fully Bled through, through his entire genetic sequence,” Desmond stared at his ancestor, then at Clay, who smiled again. “How far does your memory go Blondie?” he asked Clay.

He was quiet for a few seconds, “I can remember parts of the fall of the Old Civilization.”

“Woooow,” Desmond was impressed.

“That far back is hazy though,” Clay said. “I couldn’t really tell you anything about it.”

“But that’s why he’s here,” Ezio said now. “He quite literally is a historian, a real one. The fact that he can remember events as they happened without the cloud of books or time is very helpful since humanity works in cycles. He helps predict what will happen before it happens.”

“Really? How?”

“Uh,” Ezio turned to Hawk who in turn turned to Clay who just shrugged. “He sometimes isn’t very helpful,” he added with a sigh. “He’s kind of nuts.”

“Only macadamias,” Clay chirped and Ezio sent Desmond a look, he had to refrain from snorting.

“So he’s been here since he ‘died’ in Abstergo?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Hawk said. “They really don’t guard their morgue very well,” and Desmond grimaced.

He opened his mouth to say something but, surprisingly, Jacob beat him to the punch. Only what came out wasn’t English, or even any other language he knew Jacob knew. It sounded like… German? Maybe. Desmond didn’t know German. The next surprising thing that happened was that Clay immediately responded, in German. They talked for about ten seconds before Clay suddenly clapped his hands with a laugh.

“Hey,” Hawk yanked on his shirt sleeve, “Stay in the present we aren’t done yet,” he said sternly and Clay looked at him, smiled and then looked back at Jacob and Desmond wasn’t sure if Clay had just… had he just _winked_ at Jacob? What the hell had he just missed? “And you,” he rounded on Jacob who was rubbing his eyes. Hawk looked about to say something angrily, but pulled back. He gave a soft sigh and stood up, “C’mon, lets find you a place to lay down,” and Jacob stood as well, looking sort of grateful. Hawk left and Jacob followed after.

“Do we want to know what that just was?” Ezio asked.

“Probably not,” Desmond said.

“He’s nice. I like him,” Clay declared.

“You would,” Ezio huffed.

“So if Clay’s Bled through why isn’t he looney?” Desmond asked.

“He is,” Ezio said, “He can just control it. Sort of like the Eagle Vision.”

“So…

“Altair explained it to me, since he’s been in Clay’s head,” he leaned forward a little, “this is Clay,” he held up his balled fist, Desmond nodded. “This,” he waved to the air around his fist, “is his mind, every memory, in his genetic sequence, sort of like electrons of an atom, all whizzing around in his head never in one place or time for more then a nanosecond.” Then he extended the thumb of his fist upwards, “Under normal circumstances Bleeding all the way through would probably kill you. But, Altair was there when he Woke before everything had a chance to kill him away. He put, basically, a filter in his brain,” he wiggled his thumb around in the space the represented Clay’s memories. “With the filter he can take individual memories and look at them, like remembering his childhood, or the childhood of one of his ancestors, but through the filter. It keeps him… relatively sane, and alive.”

“It’s like a TV screen,” Clay chimed in. “I get to watch all the fun stuff happen from the safety of my couch,” he grinned

“Okay,” Desmond said slowly, wrapping his head around it. “How did Altair do that?”

“Fuck if I know. That guy knows and can do more then he’s ever told me, ever, and I’ve known him the longest. You’d think he’d tell me a secret now and then,” Ezio sighed. “He did something similar to you, only more ironclad. You only really see stuff in your sleep right?” Desmond nodded cautiously, “Probably vivid stuff. Clay can do that, awake, and has full control of it since his filter isn’t as stiff as yours.”

He swallowed and squeezed his eyes closed, “Okay,” he said tightly. “My brain hurts now,” and Ezio laughed.

“Don’t worry about it. All you need to know is that Clay is alive, he’s sane, and he’s helping us.”

“How?”

Before Ezio could continue Clay butted in, “I’ve already helped you. Back at the Sanctuary.”

“What? No you didn’t.”

“Yes. I did,” he said brightly. “I gave you the passwords to Lucy, Shaun and Rebecca’s emails.”

“But that was… You’re Erudito?”

“In the flesh,” Clay said smugly. “Well, half of him. Hawky’s the other half.”

“I have a headache,” Desmond groaned and put his hand up to his face. The older men laughed at him. “Seriously,” he grumbled.

“You’l sort it out on your own I’m sure,” Ezio said with a chuckle. “We should get settled in though. No doubt Hawk already made Jacob sleep.”

“Right,” Desmond muttered and looked at Clay. “Do you remember Abstergo?” he asked.

“I do,” Clay said flatly.

“And Lucy?” saying her name was like a knife to the chest, and thinking about it was like twisting it.

“She was nice to me,” he said.

“Me too,” Desmond said softly and pushed on his knees to stand and went to find an empty bedroom.


	31. Talons

Night training on the island was similar to night training in Australia. Desmond was better at it now though and without Altair to be a silent, stalking, shadow seeming to appear out of nothing it was easier too. Desmond knew that really his ancestors were far more skilled then any other person he would ever meet. They were ancient and powerful and more then men. What was interesting though was that Ezio and Hawk also roped Clay and Jacob into it. Clay was a shadow amid shadows, even his blonde hair and pale skin not giving him away in the darkness.

Jacob was like a fucking boar in the underbrush.

Desmond sighed from where he was perched in the boughs of an old, sturdy, red mangrove as he heard Jacob come near. It was impossible to not hear Jacob, he was _so loud_. Thankfully he wasn’t prey, or it would have been too damn easy. They were all hunting Ezio for the past half hour.

“Oi,” he hissed and Jacob’s head whipped around, but couldn’t pinpoint Desmond through the trees.

“D-Desmond?” Jacob stammered. What was he afraid of the dark or something?

“Stop crashing around like an idiot,” Desmond said softly and silently slithered from the branches.

“Where are you?”

“Right here, now be quiet or he’ll hear us,” and he grabbed Jacob’s arm. He was surprised when Jacob twisted his arm and had either of them been any less prepared would have flipped Desmond over onto his back. As it was Desmond just grabbed him and grounded himself, making it impossible for Jacob to gain the leverage to throw Desmond down. “What is your problem?” he growled.

“Sorry, just… sorry,” Jacob said with a slightly strained voice. “You startled me and I can’t see.”

Desmond could see him relatively well in the dark. He figured it was like most of his crazy genetics that made him good at things to give him insanely good night vision. The moon was half full and it’s light had trouble filtering through the canopy, but Desmond could still see as well as though he was under the half moon without the light being obstructed. It had always been this good, so he knocked it up to his genetics.

“Then stop trying to see,” Desmond said softly.

“What sort of mystic horse shit is that?” Jacob asked in a tone that was very much _not_ like Jacob. The accent was even different.

Desmond’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed Jacob’s arm again, “Jacob,” he said, “are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just fine. I’m just out in the middle of the ocean on a tiny island playing man hunt with a bunch of badasses. No pressure. I’m fine,” he huffed and that sounded like Jacob now. He must have been mistaken. “I don’t know why I have to be here,” he grumbled.

“It’s training.”

“Yeah but you’re the hero, not me,” and it was like he’d just slapped Desmond. “I’m just the little stray who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and couldn’t keep my mouth shut,” he was scowling now. Unhappy.

“If you wanted to leave-

“Yeah, I know. I could. And where the fuck would I go?” Jacob demanded into the darkness, though directed at Desmond. “I know I know too much,” he sounded sad now, “I could never go back,” he looked dead at Desmond now, “I see why you always run away.” Another slap, “The world is _fucked_.”

“Oi, princess squared,” they both turned in the direction of Hawk’s voice, cutting through the darkness. Desmond couldn’t see him, but he was probably less then twenty feet away. “We still got an Eagle to find. Stop talking and giving away your position. He’s probably on the other side of the island by now.”

Desmond sighed softly, “He’s right,” he whispered, “C’mon, lets go find him,” he gave Jacob’s sleeve a tug in the direction to follow him. He would have to teach Jacob how to not walk around like a bull in a china shop. He _had_ to become quieter.

_“Whatever you say_ ,” Jacob said. Desmond chose to ignore the fact that it was in ancient Arabic.

—

The bathroom had a huge skylight in it so that as the sun rose up higher and higher the white walls changed colors from red, to orange and yellow, and finally to white. Desmond thought it was pretty cool, he liked showering in this one in the morning or the evening (the colors moved in reverse during sunset) because of it. Life’s little niceties in a world full of shit. This was of course just one of the, fuck, six bathrooms in Hawk’s mansion. He still had trouble getting it in his head that Hawk had a mansion in the middle of fucking no where.

Great for when the apocalypse happened.

He turned off the water, which was fed by a cistern and warmed with power from a roof coated in solar panels, and stepped into the orange lit bathroom. He dried himself quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist before shaving and brushing his teeth, taking his time with these things before he sent his body out to go get pounded into shape by Ezio.

After rinsing his mouth Desmond looked at himself in the mirror. He remembered when he’d been in Italy he hadn’t been able to recognize himself. He’d let a beard grow out and after his short coma he’d come out even shaggier then he’d ever been in his life. His  face had been thin, sagging inwards, but his body had been fat, soft and without the muscle he’d had before being kidnapped by Abstergo. The Animus had been slowly killing him and he’d looked like a slowly bloating corpse. The thought made him shiver.

The man who looked back at him now was nothing like that man who’d been weak and trapped in the Animus. His face had filled back out, but not like it had been in Monteriggioni when he’d been living off junk food, and he no longer looked like a skeleton with a gut and flabby limbs. His ancestors had beaten the fat out of him and his muscles were defined and his frame sleek. He wasn’t one of those super ripped guys with bulging muscles but he had a bit of a six pack going on and broad, muscular shoulders from climbing and fighting. He wasn’t ripped because guys who could kill you weren’t ripped, they were lean and hard and fast and didn’t flaunt the fact that they were badasses.

“I look good,” Desmond said to his reflection and then grinned at himself before laughing. Feeling silly he flexed one of his arms. “Damn,” he said, he’d never had arms like these, even when he’d been in shape before Abstergo. He flashed another grin at his reflection before leaving the bathroom, in a rather good mood he thought.

“-u think he knows?” he stopped when he heard Ezio talking in the living-room. He stayed out of sight though, Ezio’s volume told him he didn’t plan on being overheard.

“He should,” Hawk said back gruffly.

“Still, you know how disorientating it is.”

“He can handle it, he’s not a kid.”

Ezio grunted, “I wish he’d listen to us when we tried to tell him.”

“He’ll just get a good surprise,” he imagined Hawk shrugging.

“I guess. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t break my heart to see him like this,” there was a bit of silence. “Don’t look at me like that, it isn’t my fault you don’t have one.”

“Shut up, _Beardy_ ,” Hawk said, mostly sarcastic, also angry.

“Don’t take that tone with me boy,” Ezio growled right back. “I’m still old enough to be your father.”

“More like grandfather,” Hawk muttered.

There was a silence and Desmond could only imagine Ezio’s face at that. He knew Ezio hated being called old. A moment of silence passed and then Hawk laughed and a second later Ezio laughed with him. “It’ll work out,” Hawk said. “He’s doing fine, we’re at the meeting place, and the other one is shaping up too.”

“You don’t even like him.”

“The little shit is growing on me, what can I say?” Hawk said somewhat helplessly. “Making the best of an awful situation.”

“Awful is right.”

“When we took him I looked at New York missing person reports, just to check. He’s been filed at least three times.”

“Shit,” Ezio muttered, “By?”

“His work, parents, friends,” Hawk sighed. “I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to make a phone call.”

“Altair wouldn’t have let him, not then.”

“Yeah, but you’d think he would have.”

“They’re weird ones though. You know who he is, and the Bleed’s only so safe. All of them from that time were weird.”

“He’s _fine_ ,” Hawk said irritably.

“I know. Desmond’s fine too. Doesn’t mean he isn’t a little fucked up as well.”

“I’m doing what I can. Better then anything-

There was a loud thump from down the hall. Desmond’s head jerked towards it, it was coming from Jacob’s room. It was only then that he felt his heart in his chest, beating so fast it was like he’d just come down from a sprint. He heard the other two get up from the couch in the living room and knew they’d see him. Better show himself over letting them think he was eavesdropping. He quickly walked across the doorway, his destination obvious.

Clay was pushing Jacob’s door open when Desmond and his ancestors reached it. “You okay in there?” Clay asked sticking his head in.

“Y-yeah,” they heard Jacob squeak. Something sounded _off_ though. Something was wrong.

“What’d you do, fall out of bed?” Clay joked and Desmond peered around the door frame. Jacob was indeed on the floor, tangled up in his sheets. He was staring wide eyed at the doorway and the four men looking in. Something dinged off Desmond’s brain. The _offness_ of what he was looking at. The way Jacob was sitting looked different, as well as the way he held his shoulders. It was like he was compensating for something and the shoulder with the huge scar on it was dipped lower then it should have been, even though he was sitting strait up.

“Yes, sorry,” Jacob said. Desmond frowned. His accent was gone, or rather he had a _different_ one. New Yorkers had a specific way they said their Rs. This way was different. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out,” and _another_ different accent, this one practically invisible. But Desmond had been all over the States, he knew every major accent in the North American continent. It sounded almost vaguely Southern, but it was very discreet.

“Try and stay in bed, buddy,” Clay said with a grin and then shooed the other three out of the door closing it to give Jacob privacy.

“Well at least he isn’t trying something stupid,” was all Hawk said with a shrug. “I’m hungry, who wants breakfast?”

Desmond distracted himself. Jacob was fine. Hawk had said so. “I am,” he said.

“Good. Go put some clothes on, I feel like a pedophile looking at you,” Hawk said with just enough humor injected into his voice. They all laughed.

“Thanks grandpa,” Desmond teased and ducked under a playful shove and padded to his room to pull on some clothes. When he left his room he could smell bacon. Fuck yes.


	32. Nightingale

 

He dreamed of the Ancients. Towers of godly power. Old with untold knowledge. Four of them stood around him where he sat in a star field like a child. The matron Minerva, the brutal Juno, the wise man Jupiter, and the beauty Venus, standing at four points around him. Beyond them he could see others, their eyes lamp-like and golden, peering at him from a darkness and a fog that he couldn’t penetrate. These were the Ancients he’d seen,  but there were others, he could _see_ there were others. The only light that illuminated them was in a small pocket of stars on which Desmond sat, the rest was shrouded in dark and ink and fog save for the glimpses of the lamp-like eyes.

Venus stepped up to him, she wasn’t sheathed in gold like the last time he’d seen her, but she was the same shape, brown haired, curvy and with a face that was humanly perfect, unlike Juno and Minerva who possess a knife-edge-like aged beauty like how he imagines elves would look. She knelt next to him, pulling her simple shift over her knees as she did so and then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Do you want to know a secret?” she said softly and then when he looked at her again she wasn’t brown haired and curvy anymore. Now she was blonde and blue eyed and his chest tightened painfully when she smiled with Lucy’s face.

He should have moved, run away, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t feel his body. He wasn’t even sure he _had_ a body. “Do you want to know a secret?” she asked him again and somehow he knew he was nodding, though he couldn’t feel his neck moving. She smiled and looked at Minerva, Juno and Jupiter standing at the other corners, looking forward, as though they couldn’t see what was going to happen, then she looked back at Desmond. Her blue eyes were clear, and _alive_ and they _hurt_. God they hurt so much because he’d never get to see those blue eyes again and it was all his fault.

Venus leaned over, her lips brushing the cusp of his ear and he shivered because he could _feel her_ , not like the last time he’d seen Venus and she’d just been a hologram. She spoke into his ear, her voice familiar, soothing, and calm, but as soon as she spoke he forgot her words. Maybe he’d remember one day. It didn’t seem to matter. Because he could hear her voice again and 

—

Desmond rolled over on his bed with a slight groan, trying to find a more comfortable position. Outside insects buzzed and he could hear them through the window and over the soft drone of the AC in the background. When he turned over the other side of the pillow was cool and he lay there, momentarily half awake, his eyes lidded but open slightly and he could see out his window. Outside it was raining gold and standing just outside was a figure though he didn’t know who or what it was, they were too bright in his vision. Too bright. Too bright

—

The stars under him pulsed, rippling through a million colors, growing brighter and dimmer, exploding, dying, being reborn and he sat, captivated by them, watching the universe spin under him, be born and die and follow the endless pattern of life that everything had to go through.

“We died,” he looked up, it was Venus, still blonde, still with blue eyes, and still hurt to look at. “We died and our time was over,” she was leaning against him now and while he couldn’t feel his hand or arm he knew that their fingers were tangled together. Her other hand traced out something in the small star field that encompassed Desmond and about a foot beyond where he sat. “We wanted to live though,” she had her head on his shoulder, “I wanted to live.”

“But everything dies,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Those of us who didn’t want to die, but instead wanted to serve, were left to guard the Temples and our greatest artifacts. I didn’t want to die. Now I wish I had.”

“Everything wants to live,” he didn’t know he spoke, as he didn’t know if he had a face, and couldn’t feel his mouth move, but he _did_ speak. 

“And what a life. Trapped in a box,” she said softly. “We were greedy,” she seemed to pick up a star, a tiny pinprick of light, and held it on the tip of her finger. “But life is fragile, and everything has it’s time,” they watched the star go supernova in the next instant, clouds of super hot gas ripping through the air and as Desmond watched the clouds twisted into a nebula. “One life has to end, for more to begin,” and he saw new stars ignite in the cloud of dust and gas as tiny dots of light. “Our time was over, it’s your time now,” and she smiled Lucy’s smile at him and the knife that was always stuck in his heart twisted. 

“It’s your time now,” she said again. “Don’t let them get it back,” and she brushed away the nebula back into the star field under him. “You won’t, will you?” she asked him. He didn’t answer, he had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to, Venus smiled Lucy’s smile at him again, “Good. That’s good,” and she leaned her head against

—

It was light out now and it poured in through his window. Desmond blinked awake slowly, feeling like he was made entirely of lead. The dream was full in his mind but even as he tried to remember it the specifics trickled away like cupped hands trying to hold water. He rubbed his brow trying to remember. For some reason he felt like it was important that he remembered. But after a few minutes the only thing he could remember was Venus, smiling with Lucy’s mouth, and the words ‘Our time was over, it’s your time now,’ and they left him feeling unsettled.

Finally, after he’d laid in bed for too long he sat up and went to stand up. But his feet met flesh and there was a grunt and Desmond drew his legs back and looked over the side of his bed.

“Jacob?” he stared at the other man, laying with his back to Desmond’s bed in a pair of sleeping shorts and a shirt. What the _fuck_ was he doing here?

Him stepping on the kid from Queens woke him though and he started awake and sat up and looked around. “What am I doing here?” he wasn’t looking at Desmond as his back was to him.

“Funny, I’d like to know that too,” Desmond growled and Jacob suddenly spun where he was sitting and his eyes widened when he saw Desmond.

“Uh-

“You got an explanation?” Desmond demanded. Jacob just shook his head. “Did you sleep walk here or something?”

“I… don’t know,” Jacob said. “I swear I went to sleep in my own bed, and just woke up here,” he said, he was still slightly wary of Desmond even now, though it had been almost two weeks since they’d been on the island.

“Yeah well get up and get out,” Desmond said, trying not to sound like too much of an asshole but _damnit_ Jacob was _in his room_ and sleeping _on his floor_ , and Desmond had locked his door! That was just super fucking creepy.

“Yeah, right,” and Jacob scrambled to his feet and fled out of the door. Desmond sighed and put his feet on the floor, rubbing his brow again tiredly. 

Well that was stupid. It was warm in the room and when he looked up he saw his window was open. What the hell? His door _had_ been locked when Jacob left so he’d come in through the window? How did that make _any_ sense? Had he slept walked from his room, out the house and through Desmond’s window? That was crazy. Heh. Crazy. He really had to come up with a better word, since his _life_ was crazy, crazy and impossible so he really didn’t know what he was talking about. 

Not to mention _he_ was impossible. Somehow he knew he was impossible, that whatever he was that was making all this insane shit happen. Because he was born, and because he was different. The others had this look about them sometimes, where they’d look at him like they were surprised, like the couldn’t believe he was real.

He got to his feet, pushing the existential crisis to a later date, he needed to get dressed and ready for the day. He didn’t know what the day would bring, but he had a feeling it’d be easier to understand then his dreams, fuck, or this morning. At least he hoped so. He closed his window with a snap.


	33. Rustling Your Feathers

Desmond and Clay were eating breakfast together. The others weren’t there yet. Ezio seemed to be sleeping in and they could hear two showers running at different sides of the house, one upstairs where Hawk slept, the other down the hall with Jacob in it. Clay had made bacon and eggs for breakfast and Desmond had shown him how to make the _perfect_ pancakes. Clay had been amazingly impressed and even clapped when all of Desmond’s pancakes had turned out to be perfectly round, circular, and fluffy. Though he’d scoffed at Desmond when he’d forgone syrup. Desmond liked his pancakes with only butter.

He had to admit, Clay was better alive then he was in the Animus. On Animus Island Clay had been cracked, well and truly cracked. Here though he was better, he knew that like him, Altair had _fixed him_. Altair was always doing that, fixing things, it was like all he did. Clay didn’t ramble about strange conspiracies or hand out half truths, if Desmond wanted to know something he’d get a straight answer. The only thing was that ‘straight answer’ with Clay was still sort of warped, but it was sort of expected. Clay knew a lot, and he knew the Truth, it was enough to make anyone a little warped, even when the were straight.

Down the hall the shower turned off and Clay looked down the hall when Jacob walked out the bathroom, towel around his waist, rubbing his head and face with a smaller towel and headed for his room. He ended up smacking into the wall. Desmond chuckled, at least until he felt Clay _staring_ at him. “What?” he asked.

“Don’t laugh.”

“He ran into a wall, it’s funny,” Desmond said.

“You wouldn’t have been happy if one of your friends laughed at you when you were using the Animus,” Clay said in a serious tone.

“Alright fine,” he huffed and went back to his pancakes.

There was a strange silence, Clay had a thinking face going, thinking and looking back. Desmond knew the look now, he’d seen it often enough. “What do you know about him?” Clay suddenly asked.

“Exchrus vre?” Desmond asked, mouth full.

“Jacob, what do you know about him?”

Desmond thought about that, “Not much,” he admitted. “He’s from New York, he lived alone, he owned a cat and a motorcycle, and worked at a middle eastern cafe.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, he has this _big_ fuck off scar on his arm,” and he traced the scar on his own arm. It started at the end of his collar bone on his left shoulder and then down at a steep angle before curving around the upper arm about an two inches above the elbow and carried all the way around to the meat of his arm on the other side. No one knew how he got it, they didn’t ask, and Jacob didn’t tell. “And a dead brother.”

“That sounds familiar,” Clay said and Desmond wasn’t sure what he was referring to. “A lot of us in this house have dead brothers.”

Desmond’s eyes narrowed, “You don’t know what you’re talking about Clay. So I suggest you shut up.”

“Just saying, you’re not alone.”

“It happened like ten years ago, I’ve moved on,” and he pointedly shoved pancakes into his mouth, so he wouldn’t have to look at Clay, so Clay couldn’t see the lie in his eyes. He was the one who’d found Duncan, when he went to wake him up for school, because he hadn’t gotten up. His screaming had actually called his mother’s attention. He’d been cold when Desmond had found him. It was the first time Desmond had ever seen a dead body. He’d been eight.

“Yet you still send flowers to his grave-

“Shut up Clay!” he yelled, slamming his hands down on the table, glaring at the blonde. “Just. Shut up,” his voice turned hard, and lowered in tone. Upstairs the other shower cut off as they stared at each other.

“Let go of the knife Desmond,” Clay said, not looking anywhere but at Desmond’s face. Desmond tore his eyes away and realized he’d been clenching the butter knife so hard his knuckles were white. Under normal circumstances it wasn’t a weapon. But Desmond wasn’t a normal circumstance. He released the knife and it clattered to the table. “Sorry, that was mean,” Clay said softly.

“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” he asked in a hiss.

“Sometimes I don’t,” he agreed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Desmond looked own at his pancakes and bacon. He wasn’t hungry anymore and shoved the plate a Clay. Clay snatched up the remaining pieces of bacon and Desmond went to throw the pancakes out. As he did he told himself to calm the fuck down. Yelling at Clay didn’t get him anywhere. He was just wound tight though. He hadn’t had a break, a _real_ break, in almost six months. He sighed and slouched against the counter. It had been non stop, feet to the ground balls to the wall since the first chaotic memory of Altair’s where he didn’t know ground from sky or left from right and there was just so much _noise_. A loud droning sound that had filled his head and it was the only time he’d ever heard it, when he’d rejected the sync. Then they’d let him out and he’d seen Vidic for the first time, and Lucy…

He needed a real vacation. He knew it wasn’t going to happen. He’d never really had a day off in his life, and he never would. There was always someone coming, there was _always_ someone coming. It was his people, or it was the Templars, or someone he managed to piss off because of his job. He ran both hands through his hair. And the past few months hadn’t been any sort of helpful to his stress levels. They’d gone down since he was out of the Animus, no more screaming in his sleep, or dying in the chair, over and over and over again. And they wondered why he screamed. He’d liked to see them fall to their death repeatedly, or get stabbed to death, hacked into, or shot full of arrows or gun fire. He had. No wonder he was crazy, no wonder Clay was crazy. He wondered if it was the same for Jacob.

Desmond twisted his head around, “Why do you want to know?” he suddenly asked Clay.

“Know?” Clay asked, casually eating his pancakes.

“About Jacob. Why did you want to know what I knew?” he turned around fully now, leaning against the counter.

“Because, someone should know what that kid’s like, before there’s none of him left in there,” Clay said casually. “I figured you would, since you spend the most time with him other then Hawk.”

“Wait, back up,” and Desmond sat at the table again. “What do you mean till there’s none of him left?”

Clay looked at him, fork poised, “You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed? Noticed what?”

“He’s _Bleeding_ ,” and he put his fork down.

“Hawk said he would, it’s the point.”

Clay frowned at him, “No, I mean he’s _really_ Bleeding,” he said seriously. “How have you not noticed?”

“Noticed what? He’s acting like he always has.”

“So spacing out is normal for him? Acting like he’s never seen a light switch or a working toilet is normal for him?”

“What?”

“Or you didn’t know?” Clay said softly, like he was weirded out by it. “Does _anyone_ pay attention to him other then me?” Guilt was a hot stone in Desmond’s gut. He hadn’t. He’d had other things to think about then Jacob, he was honestly an after thought. There was just _so much else_ in his fucking life that was more important that he couldn’t give Jacob more then passing thoughts. After Dubai especially, he’d pushed Jacob away. Since they’d come here it’d been better, but they weren’t like the were.

“Hawk said-

“Hawk _lies_ ,” Clay said softly, “Hawk’s existence, his entire personality, is a lie.”

“What are you talking about?” he was just confused.

“You’re so blind,” Clay told him.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded, “I don’t _want_ any of this. And now you’re saying that Hawk’s little Stray’s Bleeding through? He _said_ he had it under control, why would he lie about that? He’s seen what the Bleed does, we’re proof of that, and how royally it screws you up,” he motioned to the both of them, Clay’s face became uncomfortable.

“How did you not notice his personality change though?” Clay asked, “You’ve been with him for weeks.”

“I’ve had other things on my mind okay? Like the fucking end of the world bull shit, and trying to outrun the Templars and just…” he rubbed his face. “I can’t be responsible for _everyone_ , okay?” he asked, pleaded really. Clay had to understand that. “I just want it all to stop,” he said to the table. There was a long silence, “Tell me about Jacob,” he said softly, because he was the only one who would care. And Jacob deserved that, he deserved _someone_ who would care that he was slipping, someone besides Clay at any rate. Someone else who understood what it was like to not know what time you were in, or where you were and what language was being spoken and just being confused and scared and angry. If he was anything like Clay and Desmond he had ancestors in the war, and when Assassins were faced with things that confused, scared, or made them angry, they tended to react with violence. He remembered now, in the woods Jacob freaking out and almost hitting him, almost managing to get him on his back.

“You assume I know.”

Desmond looked up at him from under his brows, “I know you know, that’s why you asked me what I knew.”

“Do you really want to know? Do you care?” he shrugged.

“Yes. Because not many people gave a crap about me when I was forgetting who I was.”

Clay smiled a little, “Me too,” he agreed. “Lucy was the only one who cared, she always reminded me my name when I woke up. She was good.”

“She was good,” Desmond agreed. Clay looked about to say something, probably about Jacob when a strange alarm went off. It sounded like a ringing phone, except none of them had phones. It was a series of tones, rising in pitch and then falling in pitch. “What’s that?” Desmond asked.

“Someone’s coming,” Clay said.

“Someone’s coming?”

“Yes someone’s coming,” and they both turned because Hawk was hustling down the hall, past the kitchen and towards the front door, fully dressed, though his shirt was on backwards, like he’d pulled it on in a rush.

“Who’s coming?” Desmond asked.

“You don’t know?” Clay asked back, curious.

“Should I?”

Clay grinned widely and down the hall a door opened, “Damnit turn that fucking alarm off,” Ezio groaned and stumbled past them.

“Who’s coming?” Desmond asked again.

Clay just laughed, “You’re going to get a nice surprise is all,” and then Clay stood up from the table. “C’mon,” he beckoned and went to leave the kitchen. As he did he trailed his hand across the wall and the alarm stopped. Desmond frowned at him and then got up as well and followed after him


	34. The Great Eagle

It was still early morning, but it was already warm out, the Indian heat and humidity stifling and suffocating. The sun had risen, but only by an hour or so, the sun still low in the sky, though Desmond didn't see it until they'd cleared the thick jungle of the island and onto the wide sand beach and the jetty where their boat was moored, bobbing gently in the waters. The sun made the water like a mirror and it hurt his eyes though there was an odd form on the waves. His eyes were drawn to a smaller boat, practically a dingy, heading towards them. "How'd you know?" he asked them as he followed the three other men onto the dock.

"Security system is sight based," Hawk said, "I made it back in the mid twentieth century. Uses Eden Eyes to see what otherwise is impossible or difficult to see."

"Eden Eyes?"

"Piece of Eden, amazingly common if you know what you're looking for. The Ancients' cities and temples are riddled with them, and they're invisible under normal sight. A human could never see one," Hawk folded his arms as they came to a part of the jetty where there was another place to moor the dingy which was circling around to them.

"You saw them?" Desmond asked.

"And I," Ezio said.

"I can't," Clay said, "You could though," he added when Desmond sent him a look.

"So then what does that make us?"

"Not human," Hawk said with all the casualty of discussing the weather.

"More then human," Ezio said pointedly.

"And they saw the boat? The Eyes?"

"No, they saw the person on the boat," Hawk said, the dingy was getting closer. "Eyes don't see _things_ , they see people. Our people. They were slave security measures," his voice betrayed nothing, though Desmond was giving him a wary look that he could discuss such things so casually. He remembered what Clay had said. Hawk's personality, his existence, was a lie. What did that even mean? He didn't know. He frowned at the ancient and shivered a little. Hawk felt him watching, looked at him, and smiled. For the first time it looked fake to Desmond, like he'd practiced it in a mirror so often no one ever knew it wasn't real. He looked away from the Bostonian.

The dingy was closer now. The person, man, at the back by the engine, steering, wore a large hat, shadowing his face and no shirt, and wearing just a pair of shorts. Even at a distance Desmond knew he wasn't dark enough to be Indian, though too dark to be a white man either. He was bronze, like a Greek statue they'd never get to see. The dingy pulled up next to the dock eventually.

"Took you long enough," Ezio said to the man as he started to tie off the dingy, his face blocked by the fact that they were higher on the dock and the broad hat hid his face. The man cursed in what sounded like Hindi, or some other tongue maybe, Desmond didn't know it, and just tied off his boat. "Oh for fucks sake, the suspense is going to kill me and Hawk," Ezio bitched.

"Wouldn't be the first time," and Desmond froze at the sound of the man's voice which _was_ _impossible_. "And you've died of much nastier things then just a little suspense," the man finally looked up at them. He wore sun glasses even with the bat but there was no doubt who it was.

Desmond fainted.

—

"-u tell him?"

"We tried he didn't want to listen."

"Well that was stupid."

"We told him that too!"

"Stubborn idiot-

"Just like you."

"And you too boy."

"I'm not a boy."

"Tell me that when you start counting you’re centuries on more then one hand."

"We're all stubborn, both of you come off it," now he could figure who that was; Ezio.

"I think he's waking up," that was Clay and Desmond cracked open an eye. He wasn't on the dock, though his body remembered the crack of his head on the boards. He was on sand, under some palm trees. Standing above him were four men, three he expected and one who was supposed to be dead. "Hey there sleeping beauty," Clay said with a grin down at him.

"This is by far the worst sight I've ever woken up to," Desmond groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. His head hurt, but that probably had to do with hitting his head on the dock. "God," he groaned.

"Not here I'm afraid," Ezio said. "Feel okay?"

"I will once you vultures get back," and they stepped back and Desmond could see the early morning sky through the fronds of the palm tree over head and get some air.

Okay. He was okay. Right? Well, nothing was broken and other then a bang on the head that would probably go away he felt fine. Confused yes. Pissed, definitely yes.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and then kneeling and then up into a stand and turned to Altair. Because it _was_ Altair. "You should be dead," he said, amazed by the flatness of his own voice.

"Well, I'm not," Altair said.

Desmond punched him, hard, in the face. So hard it hurt his hand, and so hard Altair actually stumbled back a step or two.

"Hey!" Ezio cried.

Altair just raised his hand to Ezio, telling him to back off and then pressed the hand to his face. "It's okay," Altair said and then looked up. "Is that it?" he asked Desmond in a serious tone, fingers against his cheek where Desmond had hit him.

"It shouldn't be," Desmond's voice was hard and tight and it cracked so badly the last word barely came out.

"Want to hit me again?" Altair asked.

"If I thought," he swallowed when his voice cracked, "it'd do any good."

"You can if you want." Desmond's hand shook by his sides where they were balled up into fists. Then he shook his head, "Okay then," Altair said slowly. "Don't cry," he said softly and only when he did did Desmond realize he was. As badly as he had in that unknown desert town where he'd almost broken Jacob's arm, only it was quiet, not violent like the last time. Altair touched his shoulder, testing him, and when he didn't lash out wrapped his arms around his shoulders, embracing him tightly. " _It's okay,_ " he said softly in Arabic and Desmond hugged him back desperately. " _It's okay_ ," he said again and gently rubbed his back like a father would have, though the actual deed was foreign to him. Andrew was a hard man to love, a hard father, he didn't show people his feelings and expected Desmond to do the same. All he knew was the concept of this sort of thing. But this was really it, something he could touch and experience and it hurt. It hurt _a lot_. But then, that was sort of part of being human, letting others hurt you and always forgiving them. 

Altair shushed him gently and it was like when Ezio comforted him, it felt good to be taken care of _for once_ instead of always have to do it himself or to not have to think about anyone but himself. Ever since the others broke him out of Abstergo there had always been... others. Others that Desmond, in his mind, was responsible for since he was the one they were all on the line for. He didn't want to burden any of them with his trouble or his mental issues (which he swore he'd been in control of) because they already did so much. He couldn't ask for more, not when he gave back so little. Before that it had only been him. And just since then the number of people Desmond was responsible for continued to get bigger and bigger till he felt the weight of the entire world pushing down on his shoulders, compressing him, their eyes on him, waiting to see what he'd do, which side would _get him_. Would he side with those who worked in the shadows to serve the light, or would those who claimed they _were_ the light finally catch him?

Really what he wanted was for it all to just _stop_.

He didn't want to train anymore. He didn't want to run anymore. He was so tired of running. It felt like he'd been doing that his entire life, running. Running from a destiny and a life he didn't want, from people he didn't like, from a world that wanted _too much_. He was just one guy! One fucking guy who didn't know enough of what he needed to know.

But really, what we wanted most right now was to _never_ lose someone important to him again.

" _I hate you_ ," Desmond muttered into the shorter man's neck once he could talk.

" _No, you don't,_ " and he patted his back fondly. Desmond just hugged him tighter. He was right. Of course he was right. Altair was never wrong, about anything it seemed. He was the glue, he could see that, because without him Ezio and Hawk both seemed listless, going through the motions they had to go through. Though not with any real purpose, not really. 

" _Okay_?" he asked wondering if he was good, if he could stand without clinging to him, though sounded like if Desmond wanted to he'd allow it. Desmond swallowed and nodded into his shoulder before taking half a step back, still in the immortal's personal bubble, but not glued to him. " _Brave face,_ " Altair said, not sternly, but like he was reminding him and squeezed his shoulders. Desmond wiped his face and took a deep breath. " _Good. Now, lets get out of this heat,_ " and he turned Desmond around. The others had gone.

"Uh where did-

"Saved your dignity," was Altair's short answer.

"...Oh."

"Men should be allowed to cry on their own time, without being judged," Altair said as they walked the path under the jungle to the house.

"... Have you...?"

"What? Cried? I'm human aren't I?"

"I'm not sure about that one."

Altair chuckled and took off his big hat, "I am human. I eat, I breathe, I sweat, I feel pain, I heed the call of nature, I jerk off-

"That was so something I didn't need to know," Desmond made a slightly grossed out face, but grinned when Altair chuckled again.

"I can even die. I just don't _stay_ dead."

"That would have been nice to know."

"They told me you wouldn't listen."

"... Personal experience has shown me that when people die, they tend to stay dead. I thought they were just trying to make me feel better," they reached the door but didn't go in. Going inside meant there would be the others and it would be different. Right now Desmond could ask Altair anything and he'd get an answer. A real answer. Inside was just confusion and half truths, not lies, but just not the _whole_ truth. "The others?"

"Ezio and Hawk. We all come back."

"What about Clay?"

"Incomplete Ancient technology, incomplete immortality. He'll live so long as he doesn't die. Wont age, won't get sick. But he takes a bullet, starves, drowns stabbed, whatever, he'll die, and he wont come back."

"And so you just-

They both looked at a cry from inside. It sounded angry. Altair shoved the door open and Desmond followed after him. There was loud yelling in what something that sounded vaguely like Arabic without being Arabic at all. "What is that?" he asked.

"Urdu, the Pakistanis speak it," Altair said moving quickly towards the person yelling angrily in Urdu and another was speaking calmly in English. They arrived at one of Hawk's workshop rooms where a very angry and very loud Jacob was yelling at Hawk and Ezio in Urdu. Desmond had no idea what he was doing in Hawk’s workshop, they’d arrived in the middle and he didn’t know how it started.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" Altair asked and everyone turned to him an Desmond. Altair spoke what he assumed was Urdu, but Jacob was surprisingly quiet.

"Altair?" Jacob asked, it sounded funny and then his eyes rolled up into his head and he fainted, falling backwards in an unceremonious heap.

There was a moment of silence, "Please tell me I didn't look like that," Desmond said looking down at the New Yorker.


	35. Bird Priest

Ezio was the first one to move, “Now look what you did,” he said, shooting a look at Altair and going over to Jacob. “You made them both faint.”

“Like damsels,” and Desmond glowered at him, Altair just chuckled as Ezio righted Jacob and sat him up against the table. “So, what happened?”

“He was having a moment,” was all Hawk said.

“You mean he was having a break,” Desmond said, scowling a bit at the immortal, and really immortal, couldn’t die, or get sick, didn’t age. It was sort of over Desmond’s head.

“A what?” they all sort of looked at him.

Desmond was uncomfortable for a moment or two, but he had to explain. Because he understood. Because Jacob was messed up. “The Bleed. When it got to be too much and something would… I called it a break, when something got through, something I couldn’t control.” He pressed his fingertips together down in front of him.

Altair turned a sharp eye on Hawk, “Did you know about this?”

“No.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me _Michael_ ,” Michael? That was Hawk’s real name? “You know you can’t. Did. You. Know?”

“No,” Hawk said again, firmer this time. “I was doing it properly, safely. I’m not some incompetent Altair. The Apple chose me.”

Altair eyed him, but said nothing and Hawk couldn’t meet his gaze. Desmond had a feeling they’d had a conversation like this before, many times even. About the Apple, maybe even about Jacob and Hawk using it on him. Desmond didn’t know half of it. He really didn’t know anything about them before meeting them in this time. Even Ezio and Altair were different then he knew them as, sure they were similar, but five hundred plus years on this planet would change anyone, and he didn’t know Hawk at all beyond this time together. “Okay,” Altair said after a silence. “We’ll work this out once he wakes up,” he sighed.

“Uh, guys,” Ezio suddenly said.

“Yeah?” Altair asked and was in the process of leaning back against the door frame.

“He’s not breathing-

“What!?” and they all jumped forward because no matter how annoying any of them might find him, or sort of in the way, or incompetent, none of them _actually_ wanted Jacob to die. Ezio laid Jacob down on the floor and put his ear up to his mouth, looked up at them and shook his head.

“Damn it Hawk,” Altair spat at him.

“I didn’t do anything!” Hawk yelped, for the first time since he’d known him Hawk sounded a bit scared. “You’re the one who made him faint-

“If you had been doing your job properly this wouldn’t have happened at all-

“Don’t lay this on me. I was doing what _you_ told me to do!”

“And you screwed it up.”

“I was doing the best I could what do you want from me?”

“To do it right-

“Children!” Desmond suddenly yelled and put his hands on on Altair and Hawk’s chests, as they looked about to start a fist fight with each other. “This is _so_ not helping right now,” and he pushed them a bit further apart. “Does anyone know CPR?” None of them spoke up. “You’re all hundreds of years old and don’t know how to do CPR, seriously?”

“Why would we need it? We don’t die,” Ezio said.

Desmond actually rolled his eyes at them and pushed them out of the way. He checked for a pulse, there was one, a weak one, but it was there and positioned Jacob’s head back, exposing his throat and held his nose before pressing his mouth over Jacob’s and breathing. Jacob’s chest rose and then he pulled back and let him ‘breath out’ and then did it again. When he’d done it twice he checked his pulse, it was still there, but he didn’t wake up, still weak. He continued breathing for the other man for an entire minute and around him he could hear the others talking, or bickering. He didn’t really know which, he was just concerned about making sure Jacob was breathing and was only slightly satisfied that his pulse didn’t stop but still wondering why he wasn’t breathing on his own. He hadn’t hit his head _that_ hard. He didn’t worry about it or he’d lose count.

His ears perked up when he heard a familiar sound and when he let the air flow out of Jacob’s lungs he saw Altair with an Apple, Ezio’s Apple, since Desmond’s was in his room still. The noise was the song of the Apple and it glowed in Altair’s hand. He’d never actually seen Altair use a Piece of Eden before, except in his memories, but never in person. Usually when an Apple sang the notes were random, a massive jumble that seemed to fall over itself, all wanting to play at the same time. This time though, in Altair’s hand’s it… it sounded almost musical. He was sitting at Jacob’s feet, his hand wrapped around Jacob’s ankle under his pant leg, eyes closed. Desmond reminded himself of his count and leaned down to breathe for him again.

The Apple’s song faded a bit after a few breaths and someone put a hand on his shoulder. He look up, “That’s enough,” Altair said.

“He still isn’t breathing,” Desmond said, his lips thinning.

“I know,” and Altair sat cross-legged in at the crown of Jacob’s head. “But you’ll pass out before you get him to breathe on his own. So, just stop,” and he hooked his hands under Jacob’s armpits and pulled him towards him a little so his head was in the cross section of Altair’s calves.

“What?” but Altair’s eyes had already closed and the Apple pulsed and sang it’s song. “What?” he asked the other two.

“Altair’s going to try and help him,” Ezio said and Hawk was nervously gnawing his thumb nail.

“But he isn’t breathing,” Desmond said, brown furrowed, frowning, still kneeling next to Jacob. The Apple was in the curve of his neck and Altair’s hand was cupped up against it. His face was pale and Desmond’s frown deepened.

“Just trust Altair, okay?” Ezio said, “If he says to leave it, it’s with good reason. Either he’ll start breathing in a minute or…

“Or?” Desmond asked carefully.

“Well, he could just die,” Ezio said and looked to Hawk as if for confirmation.

“Lets hope it’s that easy,” Hawk said, now toying with his own Apple.

“You want him to die?”

“Better then the alternative.”

“Which is?”

The two ancients exchanged looks, “He could go Under,” Ezio said, Desmond’s confusion was obvious. “He could become like _us_.”

Desmond’s eyes widened, “You mean immortal?”

“Yes.”

“How is that worse then being dead?!”

Ezio sighed, “Being this old isn’t easy Desmond. You just… sort of get tired of living after a while. You need to give yourself things to do. Women, or men, drink and food don’t really have the same luster when you’re five hundred years old. I know it’s worse for Altair,” he looked at the man sitting with Jacob. “You try to make it end-

“Speak for yourself,” Hawk said.

“Yeah, it’s all fun and games at first isn’t it Hawk? Shut up boy you don’t understand what it means to be _old_ ,” Hawk scowled at him but didn’t say anything more. “Everyone you know, _dies_ , Desmond. Everyone. You can’t really have friends, or get attached to people. If you try to be normal eventually you have to start acting the age your pretending to be, slow yourself down, bleach your hair, turn it gray, make yourself _look_ old. I’ve stopped bothering. Altair had stopped before I ever met him, Hawk’s never been worried about it, he doesn’t make real attachments.”

“Not my fault,” Hawk put in quickly.

“Think of it like this,” Ezio said. “Like when you were in the Animus. You died. A lot,” and Desmond nodded, he had, he wasn’t his ancestors. “It’s a lot like that. You die, but then you just start back over again. There’s no chance that you will somehow _not_ get up again if you happen to get shot and killed, or run through with a sword. You _know_ you’re going to be okay. Exhausting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Desmond nodded slightly.

“So now you see why dying is a better alternative. Being immortal is awful,” and then he chuckled, mirthlessly. “When Altair gave it to me he said, ‘I give you the curse of life’. I had no idea what he meant by that at first, or even for a long time. Now, I’m five hundred years old and between the two of us we’ve tried and failed to kill ourselves innumerable amounts of times, all sorts of ways. This isn’t a life, it’s a curse,” he said somberly.

Desmond looked back at Jacob, “So what’s Altair trying to do then?”

“Not have him turn out like us. Anything is better then that. Maybe he’ll wake up and be like you. Or maybe he won’t wake up at all.”

“Or, he’ll Wake,” Hawk said, and Desmond could _hear_ the capitalization on the word. “And then Altair’s going to kick my ass into the next decade,” he groaned and rubbed his face miserably.

“If you’re lucky he’ll just kill you,” Ezio said simply.

“He’d never let me off that easy,” Hawk moaned. “He’s going to crucify me.”

“Really?” They both looked at him. “What? I’ve been in his head. It isn’t outside the realm of possibility,” he said defensively.

“I hope not,” Hawk blanched a little. “Getting crucified sucks.”

“You’ve been?”

“No, but he has,” and he nodded at Ezio.

“ _You’ve_ been crucified?” he asked Ezio, staring.

Ezio waved his hand at him dismissivly, “Once. It was an accident.”

“An accident? How are you just _accidentally_ crucified?”

“Witch trials, it was a mess, try not to think about that time in history. It was nasty.”

“They thought you were a witch?”

“And worse. Demons. Angels. Lucifer himself. All manner of nasty beasts. They had a real hard on for witches for a while though and drowning people for no real reason. Drowning sucks,” he added.

“You’ve drowned?”

“Several times,” Ezio said matter of factly. “One of the easier ways to die back in the day. Weighed down by heavy things. Learned to just not be hit anymore to avoid wearing armor. Died a few times learning how to do that properly, Altair’s sort of a jerk about killing me as often as he can manage.”

“He is?” and he glanced at Altair who hadn’t moved except maybe his head had drooped a bit over Jacob’s.

“Well he used to. When I was an idiot. Then Hawk came along,” and he clapped Hawk on the back of the neck and gave him a little shake, grinning. “He got to be Altair’s outlet.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“So… you just… let him hurt you?”

“Better then being bored,” Ezio shrugged. “We don’t fight each other often. One of us usually ends up dead when that happens. And we get in a few licks too. Altair’s good, but so are we.”

“And you’re also both very annoying,” Altair sighed and they turned to the man. “How long was I in there for?”

“Half an hour, maybe,” Hawk said.

“Felt like years,” he sighed, tone reserved and soft.

After a second Hawk asked tentatively, “You going to kill me?”

Altair swung his head around and put his sharp gaze on Hawk, pinning him like Hawk was a target for throwing knives. “No.”

“Shit,” Hawk muttered.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Ezio asked as Altair pushed Jacob’s head off him and stood, tossing Ezio his Apple.

“He’ll wake up in a bit. I’m going to go get him something to eat,” and then he walked easily out of the room.

“Shit,” Ezio said.

“Double shit. I am so going to get it,” Hawk moaned once Altair was gone and slapped his hands across his face. “I wish he’d just kill me instead.”

“What’s that mean?” he asked Ezio, ignoring Hawk’s melodrama.

“It means he’s cursed,” Ezio said flatly.


	36. Cassowary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jacob. The end.

It was an hour before Jacob looked like he was starting to wake up. Hawk had gone off, Desmond wasn’t sure where, and Altair was still gone. He and Ezio had stayed, talked some. Desmond had wanted to know about the things Ezio knew, history, that sort of thing. It was interesting to him, and he had a first hand account of the past five hundred years right in front of him, why wouldn’t he grill the old man? It, oddly, hadn’t occurred to him since then that really he was living with three walking history books. There’d just been a lot happening. This was the first time they’d slowed down enough to really ask these sorts of questions or to really get it. Things moved fast in America and Australia hadn’t been either with trying to fit Jacob into their lives. Then of course there had been Dubai and… Desmond hadn’t really wanted to deal with any of them between then and now.

“Go get Altair would you,” Ezio said when they saw Jacob move, sucking in a deep breath, his first breath in an hour, though didn’t wake up quite yet.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Try and get him not to panic,” Ezio said, “Waking the first time is disorientating. Hawk attacked me the first time, and I nearly killed Altair on my second time, the first proper time,” his smile was thin for a moment. “Go on,” he shooed him away and Desmond left the workshop.

He went looking for the ancient and found him in the kitchen. He wasn’t cooking, but was sitting at the island under the big skylight (there were a lot of skylights in the house), looking into a cup. “He’s waking up,” he announced from the doorway that led into the dining room where he and Clay had been only about an hour before. Where was Clay anyway?

Altair straightened and looked back at him, “He is now?” Desmond nodded. “Okay,” and he slid off the stool. “Come help me,” he beckoned to Desmond and he went into the kitchen as Altair opened the fridge.

“What were you drinking?” he asked and stopped briefly at the island. “… You were _drinking_ , seriously?” he asked after sniffing the cup. It was whisky, thirty year old whisky, he could tell by smell alone (he was a bar tender ten years, sue him).

“I told you,” Altair said grumpily, “I _am_ human. Not like I drank a lot,” and he shrugged.

“Can you even get drunk?”

“Yes,” and he was pulling something from the fridge. “It’s just hard, I have a really high tolerance for it now. Go get a loaf of bread from the cupboard,” he’d pulled out sandwich fixings.

Desmond took a detour to the pantry and grabbed a loaf and went back to Altair who was taking out the food. Fresh food came from the main land. Apparently Clay went, by himself, every month or so, though he had a vegetable garden on the island. Meat and perishables had to be brought in from off the island. Though there was a lot in the freezer room in off from the kitchen. Like one of those freezers you saw in restaurants to keep food appropriately cold and nearly unable to go bad. “I’ve never seen you drink before,” Desmond said and Altair motioned for him to open the bread and take some pieces out. “Even in your memories.”

“The Order didn’t drink,” was Altair’s reply. “I picked up that vice after I found out I couldn’t really die,” and Desmond winced a little. He could imagine Altair drowning himself in alcohol, trying to forget it all. “I lost about a decade. I’ve since learned moderation,” and Desmond actually blanched. One because Altair had seemingly read his mind, the other because _a decade_ , it was hard to imagine one of the greatest Assassins who ever lived as an alcoholic, one so bad he _lost_ ten years of his life to it.

Altair took the bread and laid it out in a few lines and with Desmond’s help they made several sandwiches, more then everyone could eat. “Why so many?” Desmond asked into the silence between their hands.

“He’ll be hungry.”

“This many?”

“The first Waking is the worst. I ate a quarter of my weight the first time. Hawk we couldn’t stop eating for almost two days. Though he had a very different experience then me and Ezio.”

“What about Ezio?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. He jokes he ate a horse.”

“And?”

“Well,” Altair paused, his hands stilling for a moment and then snorted, “knowing him, he very well might have,” and Desmond chuckled.

Altair left Desmond to put the top piece of bread on the ten sandwiches and returned to the fridge again and pulled out some fruit and a bottle of some sort of juice he’d made before hand it looked like. “So all this, for one guy?”

“We may very well be making more,” Altair said with a shrug.

“But why?”

“Why what?” Altair asked putting the sandwiches on a plate, stacking them a bit messily.

“Why the food? Why would you be hungry?”

“Well, and this is just from my experience and first hand knowledge, when you Wake it’s after your body has basically scrubbed you clean of any dead, dying, or dangerous cells and has made you whole if you’re injured. It takes a lot of energy to do that and your body is starved for proteins, vitamins, and other stuff that make you function properly. When I woke up in Dubai,” Desmond frowned but he carried on and picked up the plate leaving Desmond to grab the bowl of fruit and juice and follow after, “It had been two weeks, Two weeks to fix a few bullet holes. I’m assuming they hadn’t taken the bullets out. So my body had to assimilate the bullets and then fix the damage. I Woke up, starving. Once I got out of there I took a day to get in order and to eat, because it was like I’d just completed the Iron Man competition, several of them, right in a row. That make sense?”

“I guess,” Desmond said. “So it’s like, you’re doing a lot of exercise and then have to refuel?”

“Yes, exactly like that. It’s a real strain on the body, but when you Wake up, you’re as fit as you ever were, and while not immune to diseases, you won’t have any of them when you Wake up.”

“Any?”

“Not a one.”

“What about bad ones?”

“Like?”

“Cancer, STDs, that sort of stuff.”

“Scrubbed clean.”

“Huh. Well that’s handy,” Desmond said as they arrived at the workshop again and Altair stared at the door. “Gonna open it?” he asked.

Altair looked at him, he looked strangely pale. “Just so you know,” he said. “He won’t be like you. I couldn’t fix him,” he said softly.

“So what’s that mean?”

Altair took a long sigh, “You’ll see,” and he opened the door. Jacob was sitting up on the floor, next to Ezio who was sitting next to him. They both looked up when they entered.

“Oh good, you’re back,” Ezio said easily.

“You been telling him?” Altair asked Ezio.

“Right now,” he said.

“So I don’t have to. Wonderful,” Altair said, “Hungry Jacob?” he asked.

“Starving,” he sounded normal.

“Good,” and Altair crouched down next to the two, “Eat,” and put the plate down, Desmond put his bowl and juice down as well. “Where’s Hawk?”

“Hiding from you,” Ezio chuckled.

“That won’t last very long,” Altair said and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Desmond asked, looking up at the old man as Jacob one-handed grabbed a sandwich and devoured it in about fifteen seconds and grabbed another one to do the same, his left hand in his lap.

“To go find Hawk. We need to have a talk.”

“You going to hurt him?”

“Nothing he won’t recover from,” Altair shrugged.

“It’s mostly just scare tactic,” Ezio put in. “Scaring Hawk does more then anything.”

“Oh well. Okay,” Desmond said, feeling out of touch because he thought it would be worse. Hadn’t Hawk been freaking out? He’d been _terrified_ actually. What the hell was Altair going to do to him. He sort of didn’t want to know. No, he really didn’t want to know actually.

“Good luck. Try not to break anything,” Ezio said.

Altair rolled his eyes, “See, unlike that child, I don’t break things unless I mean to,” his eyes flicked to Jacob and then to Desmond and gave him a little smile, though it was sort of thin and strained. He was seriously missing something now, he wasn’t quite sure what though. Then he turned away from them and headed for the door again.

Jacob coughed, like he was choking and quickly put down his food once he was able to breath, “Wait, wait you stupid novice I didn’t say you could leave yet,” and Desmond turned to Jacob who was scrambling to his feet before Altair could get more then a few steps away. What had Altair said? Jacob wasn’t like him. So then what the fuck was he like?

“Really, now is not the time,” Altair said, looking at the New Yorker.

“Shut up.”

“Did he just—“ Desmond looked at Ezio with a ‘he just told Altair to shut up’ sort of look. Ezio picked himself up off the ground and Desmond quickly straightened as well and faced the two of them.

Looking at them side by side Altair looked small. Jacob was modern height, almost six foot or so, Altair topped out at five foot nine and a half on a good day and Jacob looked _amazingly_ pleased to have to look down at Altair. Desmond somehow always forgot how short his ancestors were, they just always seemed so tall, so big, really though they were all shorter then him. Except Hawk, he always remembered Hawk was short, he seemed to take up no space at all, unlike Altair and Ezio who seemingly _couldn’t help_ but take up space. Maybe you learned how to do that after you were five hundred years old and Hawk just hadn’t taken all the prerequisite classes on how to be immortal to get the ‘how to be tall’ class. Or something.

“You don’t get to say that to me kid,” Altair said firmly. “And if I remember correctly, _you’re_ the novice.”

“Still wrong, as usual,” Jacob said and put his right hand on his hip, amused. It was a weirdly familiar posture to Desmond, but not one he’d ever seen Jacob make. “Too worried about everything else you shouldn’t be worried about still. I would have thought you’d have broken that habit Altair-

“Shut. Up,” Desmond said in disbelief, all of them looked at him. “What the hell did you do to him?” he asked, still staring at Jacob and wondering if it really was okay to still call him that.

“I told you. He’s not like you.”

“You mean besides the whole immortal part,” Jacob said, waving his hand in a certain motion-

“Stop that,” Desmond said.

“Stop what?”

“That thing you just did. Just stop, it’s terrifying and… oh my god.”

“Well he seems to be taking it rather well,” Jacob said.

“Was there a point to this?” Altair growled, “Beyond annoying me I mean? I do have a bird to go pluck.”

“Yes, actually, I do,” Jacob said and smiled. He hadn’t seen Jacob smile like that since… fuck since Desmond had been sleeping on his couch. Altair gave a half grunt, half yelp that was more of a squawk of surprise when Jacob grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward and kissed him on the mouth. It lasted only a second or so and Desmond was sure his jaw was hanging open. He jerked when Ezio leaned over and tapped it closed for him. “Wanted to do that for nine hundred years,” and Altair was just staring at him, slightly horrified.

“Did that…”

“I think you broke then Jake,” Ezio said with a laugh.

“Well at least they’re quiet now,” Jacob said, looked _far_ too pleased with himself. He poked Altair in a chest a little, Altair was still just staring at him, unmoving. “And you,” he turned to Desmond. Desmond squeaked when Jacob kissed _him_ next. “I’ve wanted to do that again for a while too,” he said, still pleased with himself.

“I think I need to sit down,” Desmond said in a tiny voice and did just that and sat down on the floor of Hawk’s workshop.


	37. Jabiru

It was just… weird.

Okay that was an understatement. It wasn’t just weird it was _fucking bizarre_.No two ways about it. Desmond was cleaning out the little bits of his hidden blade of sand and dirt and fuck all else that managed to get into it at the dining table, and kept glancing into the living room. Ezio and Jake were on the couch, watching something that looked very much like a Bollywood movie, sometimes he heard them laugh. He squinted at them both and then turned back to his blade.

It had been about a week since Altair had come back and a week of… of Jake. Not Jacob. No, he said to call him Jake now, and Jake didn’t like Hawk but that was okay since they hadn’t really _seen_ Hawk in a week either though Altair promised he wasn’t dead or hurt, just after the first time they’d met afterwards Jake had punched Hawk in the face, and might have kicked him in the balls too…

At the very least it had been explained to him. Because this shit _had_ to be explained or he’d go insane. Ezio had done that since after the whole… thing at the beginning Altair had left, muttered something about Hawk and Desmond had marked out a ten foot air cushion between Altair and Jake that Altair was freakishly aware of and always maintained since the whole, kissing… thing. He didn’t really want to think too hard about this bit though.

So, it went something like this, and it still sort of hurt to think about actually, just like everything else in Desmond’s life actually when he thought about it. Hawk had been using the Apple to let parts of Jacob’s ancestors Bleed into him, ones that were helpful at any rate. It was going pretty well till apparently up till a few weeks ago, a bit before Dubai, at least on Jacob’s end, though he’d hidden it from them. Ezio had berated him for that saying that since Jacob hadn’t said anything this mess was really now his own fault as they could have _fixed it_ before it got out of hand like this. But moving on. So Jacob had been Bleeding through, and more then Hawk thought. It had gotten to the point Desmond had been to when he’d been in Italy, before going to Rome, he saw things he shouldn’t see and had bad dreams. Apparently he was sleep walking as well (which explained how he’d ended up in Desmond’s room that one time). Like Desmond and Clay he had better days then others.

The day Altair showed up he’d been Bleeding a tribal shaman from Pakistan, badly, and been freaking out since apparently there wasn’t _just_ that shaman in there at one time, but others. Desmond didn’t even want to comprehend how _terrifying_ that must have been. To not just be yourself, but to not just be some _one_ , but some _ones_. He was glad he’d only ever lived through Altair and Ezio, two men, Hawk had been putting Jacob through a dozen or so. He’d seen what happened to men who went through that. They turned into Clay and tried to kill themselves. It made sense now why Jacob had become so withdrawn, not talking to them,doing as he was told, and in general being a hermit.

Altair’s appearance that day had jostled his brain and all the others in there because apparently _several_ of his ancestors knew Altair. That sort of made sense though as Altair was old and had known a lot of people, a lot of Assassins. It had been too much for Jacob though, and he’d passed out and then stopped breathing.

What Altair had done was do what he could. Desmond didn’t want to know the amount of skill it had to take to do what Altair did. As it was Desmond could do plenty of things with the Apple, but he also couldn’t do a lot of things either. He definitely couldn’t do what Altair had done. He’d managed to fix Jacob. Mostly anyway. But like he’d said, he wasn’t like Desmond. He wasn’t like Clay either for that matter. Because the Bleed was from real Ancient tech, and not fake Ancient tech, the damage done was easier to mend, but not reversible. Never reversible. You could just _fix it_. What he hadn’t counted on though was that the very fact that Altair messing with his head was the reason Jacob was now Jake in the first place. Yes he’d stopped the Bleed, all the Bleeding, from all of Jacob’s ancestors.

Except

One.

That was really Altair’s fault though. The very fact that Altair was even _there_ was what made Malik just… stick. Though he supposed that given the real Malik’s general personality and sheer bullheadedness for doing and getting whatever he wanted he couldn’t exactly feel surprised at that after he got past the initial shock.

But like Altair had said. Jake wasn’t like Desmond, and he wasn’t like Clay. Clay and Desmond had either been themselves, or they’d been someone else, there was no middle for them. In Clay’s case now it was weird because the Clay now was not the Clay he’d started out as. This was a different Clay that sometimes wasn’t Clay and while he claimed to just be able to see the memories ‘like on a TV’ he knew it wasn’t so, because he sometimes was someone else during training. He had a feeling Clay had a greater control of his own Bleeding and memories then Desmond’s ancestors thought, and could turn it on and off like a light switch. In Desmond’s case he was just Desmond. Altair had been able to stop the Bleed before it had gotten _too_ out of hand and while he sometimes had strange dreams, or thought maybe he could feel others, not Altair and Ezio, pushing at the gates of his mind, he was very much still himself. He was even the himself he’d been before this whole stupid bullshit started. Sure he was a bit tainted, but that sort of happened. But he was never Altair, he was never Ezio, he was always just himself.

Jake wasn’t that. Wasn’t either of that.

Instead he was both himself, and all his memories and experiences and thoughts and feelings and vices and personality, and Malik, and all his memories and experiences and thoughts and feelings and vices and personality. At the same time. All the time. In that there was no ‘Jacob’ but neither was there really ‘Malik’. But there was Jake.

And this was where Desmond’s head started to hurt thinking about it all. Because he could understand being one or the other. But _both_? Both, at the same time.

At the very least it had given Jacob his scathing tongue back, and his sarcasm, though Desmond wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing. On the other he hadn’t been able to move his left arm for about four days. Too much Malik in his head saying he didn’t have an arm but he _did_ have an arm and the Jacob knew he had an arm and it was just really confusing Desmond didn’t know why he was doing this to himself it was sort of impossible to think about Jake and not nearly give himself a brain hemorrhoid.

So now they had Jake. Because when asked what he wanted to be called, as he’d told he was both Jacob and Malik and either of those names were just sort of weird to him at this point, he’d said Jake. Because he’d never been a Jake before, always a Jacob, and this seemed like a perfectly good time to be a Jake.

And now you see **_why_** this shit gave Desmond a headache. (And no he wasn’t even going to think about the kiss thing thank you very much. He was sort of just pretending it hadn’t happened. That Jake hadn’t first kissed _Altair_ and then _him.)_

He cursed when he dropped a screw and ducked under the table to go get it and found it against the table leg. From the living room there was some laughter and as he sat up he bumped his head on the underside of the table, though it wasn’t till he was sitting upright that he dropped the screw again in surprise when he jumped. “Holy shit Clay,” he said, hand over his heart, which was beating a bit quicker then normal. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Clay chuckled, “Sorry,” and sat down across from him as he went to get the screw from where it’d fallen, again.

“What’s up?” he asked once he was right side up and put the screw with the other screws as he finished taking the blade apart so he could clean it properly. He realized he’d already cleaned it, while thinking about the whole Jake… thing, and was doing it again because he needed to be doing something. Whatever, his hidden blade could never be too clean, right? Right. Or that’s what he told himself anyway.

“You seem distracted,” Clay said. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Honestly it’s like everyone just got a new baby or something,” and he chuckled. Desmond didn’t share his amusement. “What?”

“Can you just… not? Maybe?”

“Not what?” he just seemed confused. 

“Do this whole… thing,” and he waved his hand as if to convey some deeper meaning whatever ‘thing’ he was talking about. He wasn’t even quite sure what he meant himself.

“I’m not doing anything,” Clay said and drummed his fingers on the table top a few times.

“You know what I mean.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“You just want to hear me say it.” Clay didn’t reply instantly and Desmond narrowed his eyes at him. “Weirdo.”

“Hey now, that’s mean.”

“I’ve said worse about you.”

“You have? When?”

Shit. Desmond needed to stop putting his big foot in his equally big mouth. “Well, okay, not _you_ , but the you I knew, before you… I think,” he tried to figure that out but really it didn’t make any sense. Not really. Clay obviously had no idea what he was talking about. “In the Animus, you were there. You left part of yourself behind when you died.”

“I did,” Clay agreed. “To help whoever Subject Seventeen and beyond would be. Little things,” he smiled pleasantly.

“And then… not ganna bring that up, seems weird, since I’m talking to you.”

“You mean that I killed myself?”

Desmond winced, “You said it, not me.”

“One prison and into another.”

“What?”

“I can’t really leave this island.”

Desmond’s brow furrowed. “But you do,” he said.

“Not _permanently_ , I can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

Oh okay so it wasn’t like the other old guys were locking him here. He’d have serious words if they had been. “What do you mean?”

“I only get one shot. If I die, that’s it, I don’t come back like the others do,” he played with his hands on the table. “I-,” he cleared his throat, “I’m afraid to die. For real. I’ve always come back, even when I thought I was going away for good,” he laughed miserably. “You know how much it hurts to die,” Desmond nodded, he did. “If I leave, I could just… disappear. Everything I’ve lived for- Everything I’ve _done_ , or could do, will be for nothing. I don’t have a legacy,” he picked at his nails irritably. “I’m just a guy who can’t die, and who knows the Truth that no one wants to know. If I leave…

“I get it,” Desmond said, “It’s okay.”

Clay smiled, “Knew you’d get it. The other’s think I’m silly.”

“Yeah well, the others also don’t pop up out of the ground after a few hours.”

“Days usually.”

“Days then, whatever. Point is, they’re jaded assholes aren’t they?”

“Gold plated more like,” and Desmond laughed. “But what did you say, about me? The me before you met me, I mean?”

“Well. That you’re crazy.”

“I am,” he smirked.

“Nothing really _bad_ I guess. Beyond that. Though you helped me. A lot.”

“Glad to be of assistance then,” and he bowed over the table. “What else?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “In the Animus, in the Black Room, you saved me. So there, you had a hand in making sure I’m here, indirectly though it was.”

“Hmmm,” and Clay steepled his fingers, gazing at them intently for a long time. Desmond looked back at what he was doing and finished disassembling the blade. He wiped and oiled it and was putting it back together when Clay spoke again. “That’s good. Now lets see what I do next, eh?”

“I thought you weren’t leaving the island?” Desmond said carefully fitting the blade into the sled.

“Well why not? I have a legacy now?” and he smiled widely at Desmond who stared at him for a few seconds before a smile tugged at his lips. He just chuckled and looked back down at his work, shaking his head slightly.


	38. Bird Without a Flock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing interesting happens in this chapter. Uhg, why must I have character development ksjfdshd

Training was new, and different and all around made him feel inferior as usual. Normally it was Altair or Ezio making him feel inferior, but they had hundreds of years to perfect kicking his and everyone else's ass. But this was just _embarrassing_ as he was now sometimes losing to someone who barely over a week ago couldn’t throw a proper punch and now sometimes beat him one handed. Only sometimes though because Desmond was trained for this and there was still an obvious skill gap between him and Jake even though overnight he’d suddenly made leaps and bounds. But Desmond had the body to make the moves he wanted to make, he was strong, flexible, and had had the forms beaten into him by Altair and the Animus. Jake didn’t have that. He was thin, wiry, but didn’t have the balance, flexibility or capability to pull off some of things he wanted to do.

He was learning though.

Sometimes he forgot to use his left arm though. Those were the times he beat Desmond oddly enough. When he forgot though Altair would yell at him from where he was standing a few feet away. “You have two arms novice, _use them_ , and don’t rely on your head to move yourself,” and they all knew what _that_ meant. Just because he suddenly had a Master Assassin in his head didn’t mean he could suddenly start slacking. Desmond had two of those helping to guide his movements, but they only helped, he’d built his own muscle memory, his own ability. Even when Jake beat him, if it was with one arm Altair would still call it a loss.

So really, Jake had yet to beat Desmond.

Desmond watched Altair throw his hands up when Jake pinned him to the mat, one-armed. “I give up,” he said, sounding irritated, “Practice is over,” and he left, even as Jake got off him. Desmond sat up on the padded floor and looked up at Jake who was staring after Altair with a frown.

“He’s a big baby,” Jake said after a moment.

Desmond chuckled, “You have never failed to piss him off, you know,” he said and jumped up to his feet and wiped sweat from his brow.

“He used to be much harder to piss off.”

There was a strange silence and neither of them said anything till, “He’s different.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Jake said sarcastically and rolled his eyes.

“You’re the one being lazy about this though,” and he walked to the edge of the practice room. The island house was huge, with an enclosed basement even where most of the food was kept. This room was the sparring room and had padding wall to wall like a martial arts dojo, they had their lessons with Altair here.

“Lazy?” Jake asked as he picked up his towel and wiped his face.

“Yeah,” he said as he tugged his sweaty shirt off.

“How am I lazy? I do everything he tells me to even though-

“What? You don’t need it?” he ran the towel over his shoulder just to get most of the sweat off as he wanted to eat lunch before he took a shower. He turned as he did so. Jake looked liked he was about to say that, yeah. “You’re Bled through Jake,” he said, “That doesn’t mean you know how to use what you know.”

“You do.”

“I’ve also been training with Altair for like,” he thought a moment, “Five months! You’re still just a rookie.” Jake put his hand on his hip irritably. “And it’s shit like that that pisses him off,” he pointed to him, up and down.

“You just motioned to all of me,” he said in bland irritation.

“Yeah… kinda,” he shrugged and pulled on the fresh shirt he had there. “You have _two_ arms. You’re falling back on the handicap you have when you think you only have one.”

“How the fuck does that seem like a handicap if I can beat you with one arm?” Jake demanded.

“Because,” Desmond said and looked at Jake, “it means you’re trying to be _him_ ,” and Jake looked uncomfortable for a second. “Altair thinks you’re mocking him.”

“I would nev- he’s an oversensitive novice!” he huffed and now folded both his arms over his chest.

“He’s nine hundred years old, cut him some slack.”

“If anything he should cut me some slack. You think I asked for this?” he demanded.

“None of us asked for this,” Desmond said. “I didn’t, he didn’t, none of them did. Trust me, he’s told me, they’ve all told me, they’d much rather be dead, then having to deal with this.”

Jake scowled at him, “That doesn’t mean he can take it out on me.”

“Then stop being him.”

“I’m only being me!” and he threw his arms up. “You try having two fully formed conciouses in your head at the same time and then we’ll talk, got it cutie?” Desmond narrowed his eyes at him. “Sorry,” he added. 

He and Jake had had to talk about the whole… kissing thing. They had to. During this training they were physical and often wrestling around and getting in each other’s space. He’d told Jake in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested and if he did it again he’d be angry. No flirting. No touching. No pet names. No perceived intimacy. Nothing. He didn’t want anything from Jake. What had happened the first time had been a mistake and he was sorry he had sort of led him on a bit at first. But that was over. Desmond had drawn a line and he just wanted to, at best, be friends again. That was it.

He told Jake it was because really, he didn’t swing that way. And that was true. He was mostly straight… mostly. When he used to bartend sometimes he’d let a guy talk him into meeting him after his shift, but it didn’t happen often. He liked girls. More specifically he’d like _a girl_. But— she was gone now. He hadn’t really had time to get over all the complicated feelings he’d had for her, and the fact that he’d cared about her. But she was gone, and he was never going to get her back. That was another reason, he didn’t tell Jake that though. He didn’t tell anyone that. 

The third reason was because he’d seen what had happened the _last_ time something like that had happened. Altair had made them wish they’d never been born by having them grind themselves into the sand with training. And that was before all this complicated bullshit Jake was. Before he’d just been Jacob but now there was all these _real_ Malik mannerisms he had, which he could see was freaking Altair out. Because Malik was dead. He was _dead_. And yet he knew all Altair could see when he looked at Jake was his dead friend. That was why Jake pissed him off so much. He didn’t tell Jake that either.

Desmond shrugged, “I get to live with Altair in my head,” he said. That was something else. Now that Jake was one of them, and _really_ one of them, he’d been told everything. About the Animus, about Abstergo and the Templars and the Assassins and that Desmond was Altair, Ezio, and Hawks’ descendent.

“It isn’t the same,” Jake complained. “You’re still just you. I’m… this,” he motioned to his entire self. “Half the time I want to just speak Arabic, all the time.”

“You could. Altair, I and Clay can speak it, Ezio and Hawk can understand most of it,” he shrugged. “Stop making excuses for yourself.”

Jake scowled at him, “It’s just so easy for you, isn’t it hero boy?” he growled.

Desmond actually laughed at that. “No. It isn’t,” he smiled, and his smile was brittle and sharp. “You just learn to live with it. Now I’m ganna go get some grub,” and he left Jake in the practice room.


	39. Millet

The Apple rolled effortlessly into his palm. He spun it on the coffee table where he was sitting on the floor. He had something on the TV, Nat Geo, some nature documentary about birds. Desmond had always liked birds. They were free. He never saw birds worrying about stuff. They could also fly, and things always looked so much easier from above, and you realized how small people were, how petty they could be. He spun the Apple and watched it twirl like a top across the coffee table.

A hand came down and stilled it. “The Apple isn’t a toy,” he looked up when Altair spoke.

He frowned at the old man, “I know that,” he said and Altair flicked the Apple towards him. He palmed it. “It sort of feels like it though,” he said idly. “I don’t really do much with it other then make myself invisible, or some illusions, or copies of myself,” and he balanced one finger on the Apple. “Useful, but-

“You know you can do more,” Altair said, standing over him still on the opposite side of the table.

“Yeah,” his eyes flicked up to his ancestor a moment. “I can’t even do half the stuff Hawk does, and somehow I have a feeling he can only do a handful of the things you can do.”

“And what do you think of Ezio?”

“I think Ezio likes to pretend he can do more with it then he really can.”

Altair chuckled at that and sat down across from him on the floor. “He’s plenty capable of using the Apple, and several other Pieces of Eden. He is the least capable of the three of us I will admit though. Hawk is bonded with his Apple, and I’m older then him,” Desmond nodded.

“Could… you show me how to use it?”

“The Apple?”

“Yeah.”

Altair was didn’t say anything for a few moments, then he sighed. “I will.”

“But you don’t want to,” Desmond said, confused. He didn’t understand that. Altair was good at using Pieces of Eden, he was like a master with the Apple and he knew there were more over besides. But he seemed forlorn about the whole thing.

“When I was… younger, and less wise,” Altair said, “I used my Apple and other Pieces of Eden how I saw fit. I thought, if I couldn’t die, then I had to have a purpose to be alive, and to have these artifacts,” he rubbed his brow. “I did a lot of things that today I’m not proud of. During the sixteenth century I realized what sort of things I’d done, I used another Piece of Eden to take my Apple out of humanities hands. I had no way to destroy it, but I made sure no one else could ever have it.”

“What’d you do with it?”

“I put it on the moon.”

There was a long silence, Desmond’s hand stopped toying with his own Apple, “You’re kidding.”

“Not even slightly.”

“Oh man,” and he couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Since then, unless I had to, I don’t use Ancient technology. The last time I have in the last four centuries have been to help people. Hawk, Clay, you, and now Jake.”

“Just those four times?” and Altair nodded. “But you still know how to use them?”

“I know more about Ancient tech then anyone alive. Not something I’m particularly proud of,” he admitted.

“But you could show me?” Desmond pressed. “I want to be able to use it for something. As it is now it’s a bit like a paper weight, only it sucks even as that,” he huffed.

“I will,” Altair said, nodding slowly. “What do you want to know?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “What can this thing do?”

“A lot,” he said and his tone was somehow amusing to him, it made him grin.

“Show me. Something. Anything.”

“All right,” and Desmond rolled the Apple to him. Altair cupped it and it fit easily into his big hand. Immediately it started to glow and humm. He traced his index finger along a few of the grooves, like he was manipulating it in some way Desmond couldn’t know. Or didn’t yet at any rate. “Give me your hand,” he held out his free hand and Desmond took it. Altair held it tightly and Desmond felt his eyes closed. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

“Should I be feeling something?”

“What about now?” and he felt his unclaimed hand lift up, though he wasn’t doing it.

“You’re doing that,” Desmond said and tried to open his eyes. He found though that he couldn’t. For about half a second he panicked because this feeling wasn’t unknown to him, he’d felt it second hand through Altair and Ezio, and first hand at the mercy of Juno. He was being controlled.

“I am,” he agreed.

“I can’t do that,” he said, he couldn’t. Not like this. He could convince people of things and create the illusion of wanting to do something. He remembered the few times he’d done it, one he remembered in particular when Templars had invaded Jacob’s apartment. He’d told Jacob to get on the bike behind him. But it wasn’t like this sort of control. This was silent and terrifying and utterly different from his persuasion, which was what he had done, and what Hawk had done to him in Dubai.

“It takes a certain will to overcome another,” Altair said. “Rashid has been the only man who has even been able to overcome me,” and Desmond swallowed. Then his hand was being lowered again.

Desmond could open his eyes then, “Can I learn to do that?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Can Hawk do that?”

“He can. He doesn’t though.”

“Why?”

“He did it in the beginning. It is sometimes easier to just enforce your will upon others then to convince them to do things that are in their best interest. He stopped when I did it to him.”

“You said you didn’t use Apples,” Desmond said.

“Someone had to teach that boy. And there are other tools then Apples,” and that sent a jolt down Desmond’s spine. “Ones that make Apples look like toys.”

“That’s… terrifying.”

“The Ancients were terrifying,” Altair agreed. “Try to overcome me,” he said and the Apple glowed. Desmond found himself with his head suddenly on the coffee table. He couldn’t move and both his hands were on either side of his head, palms down on the wood.

“Any hints as to how?” Desmond asked. He heard the Apple being rolled back and forth across the coffee table, Altair toying with it without compassion. “Cause you’re the most willful guy I know. And that was an insult by the way,” he added.

Altair chuckled, “Focus,” he said, “Visualize something you want, and then reach for it.”

“It have to be real?”

“No. But I find it helps if it’s something you can physically touch, at first at least.”

“Let me guess, you can’t be strong armed like this,” Desmond grumbled.

“People have tried. Trust me. They’ve tried a lot,” he said without mirth yet was also somehow amused. “The last person who tried held me for five seconds.”

“Wow, show off much.”

“You should be trying to overpower this instead of mouthing off.”

“I thought you were going to show me how to do this.”

“You already _know_ how to do this. You’ve experienced it, you’ll be able to do it. I’m showing you how to beat it, and also why you will _never_ do this to _anyone_ ,” he ended in a growl. “Be thankful I don’t have to do a handstand and try to get out of it.”

“You do that to Hawk?”

“I had him walk a mile on his hands.”

Desmond laughed, “You like tormenting him don’t you?” he was also busy trying to think of something to help him break out of this. So far nothing helpful was coming to mind.

“Ezio is too sour for it anymore. Hawk always bounces back, because he can’t stay angry at me if I happen to humiliate him.”

“He doesn’t?”

“He can’t,” and Desmond wanted to ask about that. He really did, but somehow he felt if he did he wouldn’t get an answer. Not a real one at least. If he wanted an answer he’d have to ask Hawk, and Hawk was a closed book, Desmond was just lucky enough to be able to read the back cover for the story synopsis and the book reviews. He really didn’t know anything about the colonial Assassin. “Now focus.”

“Is this really necessary? I mean, who’s going to do this to me? Other then you I mean.”

“I’ve found that things you don’t expect to happen are always the things that _do_ happen. Now focus and try to get out of it.”

“If I can’t? You said yourself no one other then Al Mualim’s ever overpowered you. Meaning I probably won’t.”

“No, you won’t,” he agreed, “But, if you can move part of your body you’re half way there at least.”

“Okay, so when I move my little finger you’ll let me up?”

“Sure.”

“And will you teach me something that _isn’t_ this?”

Altair chuckled, “Sure,” he said and the Apple rolled across the table again.

They didn’t speak after that. Desmond tried to think of something he wanted. Something he wanted _more then anything_. It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought of actually. Desmond didn’t usually want things. Usually he let things happen to him and when he wanted things they were sort of shallow or easy to get. He wanted a cheap apartment. He wanted some sort of new food or toy. He wanted a motorcycle. He wanted sex. He wanted to be safe. Really easy things to get, because he had to be easy. Not like _that_ , but he needed to adapt quickly, able to change at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t bother to sit and wait around and pine for something he would never get. So he kept his desires easy and so he’d never wanted something he couldn’t get, and what he wanted were always insanely asinine in the grand scheme of thing.

So what did Desmond want? He knew nothing trivial would let him break out of this. Nothing he usually wanted would help him here. So he just sat there, head pressed to the table, facing the TV which was still playing that documentary on birds. Altair had stopped playing with the Apple and was watching the documentary, the Apple in his lap, glowing softly.

Desmond _didn’t_ _know_ _what he wanted_. That was the awful part really. He didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know what he could think of to get him out of this.

The bird documentary ended, another started up about tigers. Pretty cool, but unhelpful. He half listened to it, trying to figure something out. An hour later the tiger show had ended, he still hadn’t come up with anything useful. “What if I can’t?” Desmond asked suddenly.

“Can’t what?” Altair asked.

“No wait. Not can’t. What if I don’t want anything?”

“It doesn’t have to be possible. It doesn’t have to be a _thing_ even.”

“What do you use?” Desmond asked.

Altair didn’t answer at first, “That my wife was alive. My first wife,” he added.

“First?”

“I’m nine hundred years old. I’ve loved many women.”

“So didn’t need that information but okay.”

“You asked.”

“Yes I did and I try really hard not to think about any of you actually having sex okay? It’s like the realization you get when it suddenly dawns on you your parents had to have had sex at some point or you wouldn’t have existed,” and Altair laughed at that. “Plus Ezio was a promiscuous bastard back in the day.”

“He was.”

“Someone say my name?” Ezio suddenly called.

“No,” he and Altair said at the same time.

“Really, I’m quite sure I heard it.”

“I was calling you a man slut, now go away, I’m busy,” Desmond said.

“Yes, very busy with your head against the table,” Ezio said, he couldn’t see Ezio though, he was to Desmond’s other side.

“He’s trying to get out of a full hold,” Altair said patiently.

“Against you? That doesn’t seem very fair Altair.”

“He asked.”

“Ah. Well then he has no one to blame for this then himself then.”

“Yes, thank you for your amazing insight Ezio. Five hundred years has certainly sharpened your wit,” Desmond said blandly.

There was a brief silence, “I think he just insulted me.”

Altair snorted, “He called you an idiot,” Altair told him. “Now get, he needs to concentrate.”

“Yeah yeah,” but Ezio did leave.

“So it can be anything?” Desmond asked.

“Anything. It’s just having more will then the one holding you. So you need to want something more then they want to hold you down.”

“Like want to move my hand?”

“It’s a base desire. Not recommended.”

“Hmmmm,” and they fell silent again. The new Nat Geo documentary was about the rise of Buddha. Again interesting, but unhelpful.

They sat through a few more documentaries, Desmond’s back hurt now, but he didn’t complain. Altair could have put him in a much worse position. He tried a myriad of things he wanted. Nothing worked.

“Oh, there you are,” he perked up at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Hawk’s looking for you Altair,” he said.

“Is it important? I’m busy,” Altair said in several measured tones.

“He said he wanted you to come look at something.”

“All right,” and he heard Altair get up.

“Does this mean I can sit up now?” Desmond asked, suddenly hopeful.

“No,” Altair said.

“God damnit Altair, this is stupid. I’m a shallow jerk who doesn’t want shit, let me up.”

“No,” he said patiently. Desmond groaned. “Find something,” he said firmly. “I’ll know if you move and let you up when you do.”

“If you make me miss dinner I’m going to be upset,” Desmond said as a threat.

“Then get out of it before then,” and Altair ruffled his hair and left.


	40. The Swan

Desmond huffed near irritably and pouted at the TV, which was on a commercial. “Still there Jake?” Desmond asked after a few moments.

“Yeah,” the New Yorker said.

“Wanna help me?”

“Maybe. What do I have to do?”

“Nothing fancy. If you could have something, anything, in the entire world, what would it be?”

“My brother back,” he said without hesitation.

There was a strange pause. “Which one?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jake grunted. “Both of them.”

“Yeah I guess it was,” he agreed.

“Was that helpful?”

“I’m not sure,” there was another silence. “Mind if I ask? What happened to him?”

“Which one?”

“I know what happened to Kadar. I got to see that part. I’m sorry,” he added.

“I’ve had a while to get over it.”

“But you don’t, do you?”

“You sound like you know.”

“I… have an idea. What happened to your brother? Modern brother,” he added.

“Drunk driver, hit him while he was biking home from work. Hit and run,” it was so clean, the way he said it, that Desmond was almost disgusted. There was _nothing_ clean about getting hit by a car. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“What happened to yours?”

“I don’t have a brother,” he lied.

“Well, not anymore,” he agreed.

“Who told you?”

“Clay.”

“Ganna have to beat his ass then,” and Jake chuckled. “I… don’t like talking about it,” he said quietly.

“Bad?”

“The worst,” he said to the TV.

“You wish he was alive?” Desmond didn’t answer for a time. Thinking that over. “Desmond?” he prodded when Desmond didn’t answer.

“No, I don’t,” he said slowly.

“Well that’s cold,” Jake sounded disgusted with him.

“It’s better this way,” Desmond said softly. “He was so… unhappy where he was, and too scared to change it, too afraid to do something about it. He would hate me for wishing that on him again.”

“You Assassins are a weird lot,” Jake said, still behind him, still out of sight, and it was annoying.

“Says the guy who’s half a one-armed asshole,” and they both laughed.

“So, did I help at all?”

“I think so, yeah,” Desmond tried to nod, he really did, but he couldn’t.

“Glad to be of assistance,” and he sat on the couch. “Mind if I change the channel?”

“So long as it isn’t to a Bollywood movie we’re good.”

“Damn, I love Bollywood,” and Jake snapped his fingers sarcastically. Then he picked up the remote and switched the station a few times. They were still in the American programming section so everyone was still speaking English. He didn’t know how Hawk did it, but he was tapped into every major television network in the world, and the channels were endless.

There was still never anything to watch though.

“Really? There are literally a million channels and we’re watching Deadliest Catch?” Desmond asked.

“Shut up, I like this show.”

“You would,” it sounded like a better insult in his head then it did out of his mouth. Jake apparently didn’t think such a bad come back warranted a response, because he didn’t answer him.

So that left Desmond with two choices. Watch Deadliest Catch about guys with pretty dangerous jobs. Or get out of this stupid hold and go do something actually interesting like bang his head into a wall. He settled on the latter and tried to think of something.

It was true at least, as much as he _missed_ Duncan, he would never wish the life he’d had back on his brother. He’d seen what Duncan’s life was like, because it had become _his_ life when he was finally gone. It was awful. He’d never kill himself though. Duncan would have been so disappointed in him if he even thought of it. He knew now, in hindsight, that his brother had been depressed most of his life, smiling through the pain, too scared to do something about it. Really though he was one of the bravest people Desmond had ever known. He hadn’t taken the coward’s way out of the Order. Desmond had done that. He’d run away and hidden himself away, basically becoming a hermit with little more to his name then a small suit case. Duncan had taken the other option. He wouldn’t call that particularly brave, but it was Duncan doing _something_ , a final, vicious defiance to their parents. Spitting in their eye. ‘ _This_ is what you’ve done to me’ it said. Showing everyone that their way wasn’t the best way, or even the right way, showing their father, hard, overbearing man that he was, that he couldn’t control his sons, that they would _always_ be what he didn’t want. They were different and he wouldn’t be able to leash them no matter how hard he tried. 

For that his brother was brave, because Desmond was never able to stand up to their father. 

Not once.

He squeezed his eyes tighter shut. Now was not the time to worry about his brother. His brother was dead. Died a long time ago. He wasn’t coming back and Desmond didn’t want him to. It would be too sad.

But

There was someone he wanted to come back.

He wanted to see her again. More then anything. He wanted to tell her so many things. He wanted to say he was sorry, sorry he couldn’t protect her, sorry he’d killed her, sorry he’d _failed. Her._ He wanted to touch her again, even just hold her hand, see her smile, hear her voice, know she was safe. That was what he wanted, he wanted her to be safe. Safe and alive, and far away from anyone who would ever hurt her. 

It wasn’t _fair_ what had happened to her. He knew she’d changed sides. He didn’t blame her. He would have too. When someone offers you a carrot, you’re more likely to take it over the stick. But, she still wanted what was best for him, when everyone had wanted something _from him_ she’d just wanted something _for him_.

His hand balled into an angry fist.

He was so surprised by this it took him a minute to realize that he could now move freely. He stared at his fist before sitting up. His back cracked and he groaned and stretched, that felt _wonderful_.

“So was I helpful?” Jake asked suddenly.

He looked at the other man, “Yeah,” he said. “You were actually.”

“Excellent,” and he smiled at him.

“Now I’m hungry. Altair’s had me pinned to this damn coffee table since nine this morning,” he groaned and got up from the floor. His legs tingled as he regained sensation in them and he shook them in.

“Damn,” Jake said.

“You’re telling me,” but then there was something _a lot_ more pressing then food. He’d been sitting there for about six hours and he _really_ had to use the bathroom.

“What did you think of?” Jake called after him.

“A girl,” he called back as he hustled to the nearest bathroom. From the living room Jake laughed and he thought he heard him say ‘of course you did.’


	41. Pitohui

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are ready for a nice healthy dose OF FEELS

He found Altair later, in one of the back rooms, away from the main sleeping quarters. It took him a second to realize he was in a garden, though he’d never seen this part of the house before. That wasn’t exactly a surprise seeing as how the house was huge and except for a row of black solar panels on the top of the house it was all under foliage, making it nearly invisible from above. The walls here were made of glass and there was a pond with, what looked like, snapper in it. These weren’t decorative fish, these were fish you could eat. The plants inside smelled strongly herbal and more besides and some of them almost smelled… sickly. No, not sickly, but very sweet, so sweet they sort of made him light headed. It took him a few moments to realize that not all the plants in this green house were for eating. Some were for killing. 

Somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised that Hawk grew poisonous plants. Back in the day such tactics would have been frowned upon. Assassins did their work up close and personal. Yes, perhaps they did so in the shadows, but they would never be so cowardly as to use poison. That had started to change during Ezio’s time, but it wasn’t until the Industrial Revolution that poison became preferred as Assassins took the guises of gentlemen and ladies. Not that there wasn’t still close combat to be had, but in Industrial England and most of the Western world it was cleaner to use poison. As poison couldn’t be traced, and the Templars had had to play catch up for decades before they figured out their enemies had changed tactics and gone from the normal cut throat to poison.

He remembered reading that in the small library back at the Farm. They had books on history, _their_ history, but children weren’t allowed to touch them, or read them. Desmond however had always been a bit rebellious, at least when his father wasn’t around, and sometimes snuck into the library. He’d read the books and then go to where his brother was buried, in a small cemetery just outside the Farm where there were a few other plots, and tell Duncan what he’d read. He hadn’t told anyone else, because the other kids would have snitched on him for breaking the rules. So many rules the Farm had. So many stupid, insignificant rules, that were meant to prepare you for becoming fodder for the stupid war with the stupid Templars. An enemy, that to most of them, was a fairy tale.

Altair was sitting by the pond and at first glance looked asleep, but when he looked again he realized he wasn’t. His eyes weren’t closed, just lidded, like he was meditating, or dozing. He stopped out of easy reach, and even further then that so Altair couldn’t jump at him if it came to that. “Altair,” he called.

Altair’s eyes flicked open, “Hey kid,” he said and stretched with a yawn.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No, just resting my eyes,” and he believed it too. “So what’s up?”

“I got out yesterday,” he said, lifting his arms and letting them drop down to his sides with a slap.

“Yes, you did. I’m impressed. It took Hawk two days to get it. Ezio about twelve hours. You’re a downright prodigy,” and he enjoyed the praise.

“You said you’d teach me something else,” Desmond said and pulled the Apple from seemingly thin air. He was good at manipulating it like that, seeming to trick it into existence like a coin trick. “Something useful.”

“What do you want to learn?”

He went and sat in front of Altair by the pond. “Teach me how to scry,” he said. “I know you can, Ezio could even manage that.”

“Mmm,” Altair said and he passed the Apple to the ancient. “Scrying isn’t easy though. You have to know _exactly_ what you’re looking for. It doesn’t work every time either, because scrying with an Apple in imperfect.”

“Okay. But you can.”

“You can,” he agreed. He took Desmond’s hand and laid it over the Apple, “Close your eyes,” he said, Desmond did so. He could suddenly hear the song of the Apple, but when he cracked his eyes open a little the artifact was inert. “Hear it?”

“Yes?” and his voice sounded strange to his own ears, Altair’s had sounded so… perfect.

“Good. This is what it feels like to scry,” it was like Altair was speaking right into his ear then suddenly he felt his stomach drop out from under him in the worst way possible. He released the Apple, turned to the side, and dry heaved. He didn’t throw up, but he came damn close to it. Altair was laughing at him.

“That was… awful,” Desmond said.

“Fun stuff isn’t it? Using Ancient artifacts beyond basic uses that just about anyone can do usually has gross consequences. They were meant to be used by non humans, Those Who Came Before.”

“Fuck, why would they do that?” he wiped his mouth to make sure he hadn’t really vomited.

“You know the Truth. For a long time we were just slaves to them. They didn’t want their slaves using their special devices.”

“Fuckers,” and he spit into the pond.

“If it makes you feel better I _did_ vomit the first time. So did Hawk. I think Ezio actually shit himself,” and Desmond couldn’t help but be amused by that.

“So you don’t now…?”

“You sort of get used to it.”

“Uhg.”

“It’s like how you get used to how awful alcohol really tastes, because you like the effects.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Desmond nodded.

“Want to try again?”

“Yes,” he said and put his hand on the Apple. 

Again he heard the song. “This is what it feels like, remember it,” Altair was seemingly right in his ear again, “And not the nausea, under that,” and the wave of nausea crashed into him. He wanted to jerk away and throw up but he just took a deep breath and pushed it down and away. Then, there, under the feeling of disgust, was another, a pull at the pit of his gut like someone had attached a string to the top of his small intestine and was just gently tugging on it. It wasn’t an off-putting feeling.

“The tug?” he asked, voice clunky and awkward to the smoothness of Altair’s. 

“Yes,” he sounded _different_ , but he didn’t know exactly how. It was subtle that was for sure. “Now tug back.”

“How?”

“Figure it out.”

Desmond frowned to himself but after a few moment pretended that he had a third arm and it grabbed the invisible string that went into his navel. He gave it ‘a tug’. “Woah,” and now _his_ voice sounded different. Smooth, silky, it was really fucking weird, and the nausea was gone. What he was seeing reminded him a lot of the Animus actually, all rippling pieces of light in overwhelming geometric patterns. He said as much.

“The Animus is incomplete Ancient tech,” Altair reminded him.

“Where are you anyway?” Desmond turned around in the white space. The sensation was _eerily_ familiar. Like he was puppeting Altair or Ezio, his body moving via instant thought, and not naturally, but just slightly jerky. During the few weeks he’d been in the Animus he’d learned to fine tune his control of the puppeteering interface so it was nearly instant and flowed almost naturally. But he was out of practice it seemed and his motions were awkward and felt like he was relearning how to walk when he already knew how to run.

“It doesn’t matter,” Altair said, his voice omnipresent, everywhere and nowhere all at once, coming from every direction. “If you wanted, you could call this the White Room, like in the Animus. The Apple, like Ancient artifacts that have an interface, have this.”

“I’ver never been here,” Desmond said, slowly spinning in looping circles.

“You’ve never had a reason to before. You were worried about the small things, invisibility, illusion, and suggestion. This is like… mmm, opening the control panel in a computer and playing with all the options the factory probably doesn’t want you to mess with. Hence the nausea, it’s deterrent. Most people never get this far.”

“Okay, that’s pretty cool,” and explained why Hawk always looked so damn far away when using his Apple seriously.

“You should only do it when you’re safe, because in the White Room you’re vulnerable.”

“Okay.”

“Now, to actually scry just picture what you want to see. We’ll do something easy first,” and all at once the White Room was washed away for a new scene someone had wiped their hand across the white. He was now looking at Ezio who was talking to Hawk.

“You’re going to hurt yourself one day kid.”

“Yeah? So? Not like it fucking matters,” Hawk said, he was fiddling with something. It took Desmond a moment to realize it was the Millennium Cube they’d taken from the Vault.

“I’m pretty sure if you blow yourself up you won’t Wake,” Ezio folded his arms.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” Hawk snorted. Then, in a more somber tone he said, “I miss Sarah sometimes, you know?” he looked up at Ezio with liquid brown eyes. “She was my only. And _really_ my only. At least you two bastards got more then one chance,” and his tone turned angry and bitter. “I wouldn’t mind finally leaving this fucking life.”

“We have work to do still.”

“I know,” Hawk sighed and rubbed his face. “It’s just so tedious sometimes,” he toyed with the Cube, “Too bad that other guy- what the fuck was his name?- couldn’t have been the special one. Nope, just me. Guy would have thrown away his life for this, crazy bastard, running through front lines,” he pulled at his face, “Crazy bastard, kinda like Altair actually. Feared nothing, ever. Lone wolf even. People must have hated him for the name they gave him, heh.”

“Well he isn’t here,” Ezio said. “You are. And we don’t want to lose you. Not yet. So don’t do anything stupid.”

“Did you just insinuate that I would do something stupid?” Ezio didn’t answer, “Do you even know what _insinuate_ means?”

“Uh-

Hawk laughed and it was dry and mean. “Much as I love you Little Eagle, you’re sometimes dumb as a box of rocks, you know that?”

“Oh shut up Hawk!” he cried and grabbed Hawk in a headlock. Hawk squawked and Ezio gave him a rough noogie. The scene wiped away again, he was back in the White Room.

“Wow,” Desmond said. “And that was happening in real time?”

“Scrying is in real time,” Altair said. 

“Can I try?”

“Of course. You need to picture what you want to see with as perfect clarity as you can manage. I used Ezio because he was easy, it’s very hard to forget his dumb face after seeing it for five hundred years,” and Desmond chuckled.

“So I just—“ and he picked a familiar place imagining it in it’s whole. The White Room snapped away and he was in a rolling set of hills. He recognized the place instantly, of course he did. He turned around and came back to face with the small cemetery, the Farm off to the right, near a copes of trees. With some slightly jerky steps from his inability to control his not-body properly he walked over to a familiar plot and crouched, flat footed, in front of the head stone. “Can I touch?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Desmond reached out and touched the headstone, “Could you uh… give me a minute?” he asked awkwardly.

“Very well. Don’t stay too long.”

“I got another place to go. Come get me for lunch.”

Altair chuckled, “Okay,” and then he felt Altair’s presence recede.

“Hey bro,” Desmond said to the headstone. He hadn’t been here in nearly ten years, but it looked a lot the same, though there were some weeds nearly covering the bottom. The head stone read, in perfect Copperplate font, ‘Duncan Leonidas Miles May 1979 - July 1994’ , and under it, where Desmond had scratched away for weeks with a knife, with crude handwriting, was ‘The Best BiG Brother’. Desmond had been ten when he’d put that in, he’d messed up the ‘g’ and had turned it into a capital to fix it. The act had altered his entire way of writing, he always wrote his G capital now, even when it wasn’t supposed to be.

“I—“ he bit his lips and looked down with a sigh, “I miss you a lot,” he rested his hand against the head stone. It was cool to the touch of a Midwestern spring, the long fingers of winter unwilling to give up their claim to spring. He didn’t cry when he spoke, he sounded normal actually. He’d once sought comfort here, to get away from a father who wanted to control him, a mother that hated him, and kids his own age who looked down at him. He was the boy with the weak older brother, the one who’d killed himself.

“I’ve had… the most _amazing_ adventure since I saw you last,” he told his brother. Then he sat on the ground in front of the stone. He told Duncan about it. The last time he’d been here he’d said he was running away. He was going out, having a life, getting away from their father, and no one was going to stop him. _No one_. He told him about his apprenticeship as a mechanic in motorcycle shop around the states. The first time he’d been to California, his first time in New York, going to Canada, bar-tending school and all the craziness that came with being the man with the mixer. His ten year adventure, all in one sitting.

And then came Abstergo. He told Duncan about that too, and Lucy and Vidic, and Altair, and then later about Shaun and Rebecca Ezio, and the mysterious Subject Sixteen. The Ancients, _somehow_ seeing Ezio again in Monteriggioni and then him running from the Assassins _again_. He told his brother he was right, as usual.

Last came this part of the story. His time with his ancestors, Altair, Ezio, Hawk, his training, and having things he’d never had growing up. A family. A father. Fuck, he had like _three_ fathers. And people in the States were pissed about gays wanting to adopt. He would hate to burst their bubble. He laughed at himself at that. He told him about meeting Jacob, and his trip to Australia and that Duncan would have _loved_ Australia, and then Dubai. Dubai and what had happened to Altair and what he’d done to Jacob, blaming him for something that really wasn’t his fault and his own stupid bull headedness about refusing to listen to people older and wiser then him. Then here, now, Clay, the real mysterious Subject Sixteen; Altair coming back, and then Jake. Jake took a bit of explaining, but he knew his brother understood, better then Desmond at any rate.

It seemed too soon that it was over, but it had been a while. In this part of the world that sun had barely begun to rise when he’d arrived and now the sun was up and midway through the sky. Altair had left him in here for a while. He wondered if the old man had come and gone, seeing he wasn’t done and just let him finish. He had a lot to say and he felt better now. Duncan always listened to everything he had to say. When he’d first run away he’d started a journal, to mark all the things he’d done, so that if/when he ever went back, he’d be able to tell Duncan all about it. It was how he coped. He’d lost the five journals when the Templars had kidnapped him. But he’d basically memorized the contents he’d read and reread them so much.

“Pretty amazing adventure, huh _ahk_?” Desmond asked the head stone. There was no answer. He didn’t really expect one. “And, you know, I think I found him,” he added. “The man you were always going on about. The one who didn’t have a face, or a name, and always told me could hide in the shadows during noon and walk on water. You always told me those stories, because you wanted him to come back didn’t you, since he was a hero,” only the wind answered him. “ _Ahk_ ,” he said the word, testing it out like he never had before. “I always thought I just made that word up before, you know? I didn’t. It’s Arabic. Altair was there wasn’t he?” he grinned to himself. “I suppose it doesn’t matter so much though,” he shrugged and then stood up. He didn’t have any tingling sensation, because his legs weren’t real.

“I’ll come see you for real when I can. I promise,” and he smoothed his hand over the top of the head stone. “And I’ll make you a really dry and dirty martini. You would have liked them. And bring you some flowers. Some really big offensive ones,” he laughed. “Bye bro,” he said, patted the head stone and then the scene snapped back to the White Room like a rubber band gun.

He felt better then he had in a long time actually. He could always get things off his chest when he talked to his brother. His fears, his triumphs, his failures. He used to always tell him. He hadn’t in a long time and it just felt… good. He’d never been able to go back to the Farm, they would have found him. But now, he didn’t have to.

He had somewhere else he wanted to look at though. This one was harder to picture, because he’d only been there once, briefly. The entire thing was blurred at the edges it seemed, he was having trouble focusing so it seemed to be as well. But eventually it cleared. He was in another graveyard. Here the headstones were well kept, the plots evenly spaced, and dug by back-ho, not by hand.

This headstone made this throat tight and thick and hard to swallow, hard to breathe, and guilt crashed onto his head like a bag of bricks. There were some fresh cut flowers laid out in front of the grave marker. At least not everyone had forgotten her. This tombstone read: Lucy Stillman Aug 1988- Oct 2012.

He stared at it for a long time before slowly putting his hand on it. “I miss you,” was all he said. He bit his lower lip for a second and then said, “And I really wish you were here to kick my ass for being an idiot,” something like a smile flashed across his face for an instant. But it just hurt _so much_. “Just do one thing for me, okay?” he asked, “Just one,” then he sighed. “You know what, never mind, its stupid. I bet you didn’t even feel the same way,” and then the White Room snapped back into place and he stood there alone for several moments before trying to figure out how to get out. It didn’t take him long, as it was a lot like waking up from the Animus.

He was sitting where he had been, alone, or he thought he was, till he turned around. “I thought I told Altair to get me for lunch,” he said to Hawk who was taking a cutting of a plant with big pink flowers.

“He thought you needed some time with your brother,” Hawk shrugged. “Lunch’s still in the fridge though,” he added and put the clipping into a bowl. “Hungry?”

Desmond stared at him a second, then down at the Apple, and then back up at him. “No,” he shook his head a little, “Not really actually.”

“Okay,” Hawk said with a warm smile, “If you change your mind it’s waiting for you.”

“What’re you going to do with that?” he asked, motioning to the bowl Hawk held with the flowers in it.

“Make something nasty. Wanna help?”

“Yeah!” and Desmond lurched to his feet and went over to his ancestor. Hawk beckoned him into a room off the greenhouse, also made of glass. The place smelled like plants, herbs, and death. Desmond just grinned.


	42. Water and Nests

He was helping Hawk, being his designated ‘hold this really dangerous nuclear reactor’ boy while he poked and prodded at it with this or that and tried to figure it out. Now Hawk was smart, brilliant actually, right up there with Einstein and Hawkings and whats his name the guy who killed the dreams of people his age everywhere when he said Pluto was, in fact, _not_ a planet. Probably smarter actually. They only had one life to learn, and they studied one field. He’d made a comment about it to Hawk, something he was sure was ganna be overlooked, about him being a genius and probably had a bunch of fancy papers from Harvard or Oxford with Ph.Ds on them and stuff. He’d just laughed and said, ‘I have them all’. And Desmond didn’t doubt him for a second actually.

So Hawk was smart, Doctorate in everything under the sun that could hold his interest. But even _he_ looked like an idiot next to the stuff the Ancients were doing. Apparently this thing, this Millennium Cube, had been running at full tilt for of thousands of years and emitted enough energy that it made the bomb dropped on Hiroshima look like a toy rocket, and did so _constantly_ , without any means to actually do it.

Hawk thought it was fusion.

If that was true then the Ancients had mastered the stars, as stars were the only things that could get that hot to make fusion happen. Humanity was still a long, _long_ , way off from fusion. Another few hundred years till they got big reactors. Nothing ever like the Cube which fit easily in Desmond’s hand. He’d read enough to know that stuff like this was impossible by today’s technology. Yet he’d seen at least four of these things in the Vault. What if they were common? That was sort of terrifying. One of these cubes could run the entire North American continent’s power grid, for free, for centuries, fuck, for _millennia_. Hence, Millennium Cube. What the hell sort of things did the Ancients use that could suck one of these puppies of energy?

He really, _really_ , didn’t want to know the answer to that actually.

Hawk just had him basically holding the Cube while he worked. Desmond was hooked up to two wires, one at his right temple, the only on the underside of his wrist. The wrist was connected to a heart monitor, the one to his head to Hawk’s insane looking computer. Seemingly he’d just ditched the entire idea of trying to look like from this century and the computer looked like a piece of fogged glass with a gripping area running the length of the short sides. Currently it was showing a holographic model of the Cube and he was scanning it with what looked like… actually Desmond had no idea what the fuck Hawk was doing.

“So why do you need me again?” Desmond asked and drummed his fingers on the table to the soft blips of the heart monitor.

“You dim the power output. It takes two hours for it to get back to full capacity and when it does if you touch it you’re asking to get instant third degree burns,” Hawk said tapping the Cube. “Though it only affects organics. The Ancients were amazing engineers, hmmm.”

“Okay… why does that happen?”

Hawk looked at him, he was wearing magnifying goggles and Desmond laughed at him as he looked like an anime character. Hawk grimaced at him, “It’s in your blood,” he said seriously.

“Yeah okay, I get that. I’m sort of magical and special or whatever,” he waved his hand in a dispelling manner. “But _why_?”

“I’m not actually sure,” Hawk said and looked away. “I do know though, that because of your bloodlines, you can use Ancient tech amazingly well. Altair’s told me how quickly you learned to scry, I’m impressed. It took me a few days to get over the sickness. Not to mention actually _doing it_.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

Hawk glanced at him, “For _you_ maybe, but us mere joe shmos don’t have it that easy. First thing I tried to scry was my wife-

“What was her name?” Desmond interrupted, he never missed a chance to learn about Hawk. He knew so little after all.

“Sarah. Gorgeous woman,” he looked up and far away, “Rebellious as sin and joined the Order after running away from Pittsburg. She was the first thing I tried to scry. Took me over a dozen tries before I got even a fuzzy picture. Altair said on your first shot you were in South Dakota.”

“Yeah,” and Hawk tapped the Cube with some sort of metal rod. The Cube vibrated in his hand. “It’s vibrating,” he said, “Is that supposed to happen?” and the heart rate monitor jumped up a few blips, going faster with his nerves.

“I don’t know,” Hawk said.

“Oh, that is _so_ reassuring.”

“It isn’t getting any hotter or colder,” Hawk turned to his computer and tapped out a few things on the screen, the holographic display suddenly exploded the Cube outwards. “Or at least on the surface. Right?” he turned to Desmond.

“No,” he shook his head, Hawk looked back at the display.

“Internal temp’s rising,” he said to himself and looked at the metal rod and several long seconds passed. He flipped a switch the rod was connected to via a wire and tapped the Cube again. The Cube stopped vibrating. “Oh,” he said with interest and glanced at his readings, “And core temp has returned to normal.”

“… What the hell did you just do?” Desmond demanded.

“Gave it a positive charge. Then just gave it a neutral one, which it is now,” he tapped the Cube again. “And now it’s a negative charge. Any change?” he looked at his display. “Temp’s stable,” he said to himself.

“It feels slippery,” Desmond said.

“Slippery?”

“Yeah, like it’s covered in lubricant,” and he was having trouble keeping ahold of it actually.

“Interesting,” Hawk flipped a switch, tapped the Cube with the rod and then picked the Cube out of Desmond’s hand and set it on the table and took Desmond’s hand. “Your hand has no residue,” he said, eyeing Desmond’s palm.

“Is that bad?”

“I’m not sure,” he flipped the switch again, tapped the Cube and then picked it up himself. Or tried to. “Oh!” Hawk said, amused when it flipped out of his hand. “It is slippery,” he grinned at Desmond and really he looked like a middle schooler at a school science fair and the teacher said he was allowed to blow something up.

“Told you,” was all he said. Hawk returned it to a neutral state and picked it up.

“I wonder… hold this,” and he shoved it at Desmond who grabbed it and then he took out _two_ rods and Desmond didn’t like this one bit.

“What are you going to do?” he asked fearfully.

“Pass a current through it,” and he put one rod on one end, it started to vibrate, positive charge, then he pressed the other rod to the other side of the Cube. It stopped vibrating. “Huh,” he stared at his display.

“What? Something wrong?”

“No. Power output just dropped half a percent,” he took away the positive rod, “And now it’s back at one-hundred,” he put the positive rod back on it and Desmond now saw the big number drop down from 100% to 99.5%. “What’s doing that? How’s it doing that?” he added and removed the positive rod a few times, watching the number go up and down by half of a percent, frowning, trying to figure it out. 

“Uh, Hawk,” he said.

“Yes Desmond?”

“Your uh… box is smoking.”

“My what?” Desmond pointed and he turned. “Shit!” and he released the rods and went to where they were hooked up. “This is a new battery though. It _shouldn’t_ be smoking!” He cursed a bit.

“Hawk,” he said, getting his ancestor’s attention, the Bostonian looked at him. “You passed a current through the Cube, and when you did it dropped in power.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that Desmond.”

“What if it was _feeding_ your battery?”

Hawk blinked. “So then this… isn’t a generator,” he plucked the Cube from his hand and held it on it’s angled edge. “This is a fucking charger,” he stared at the Cube.

“So that means…?”

“It means it gives things energy yes, but think of it like this. And this is only if I’m right of course and I’m only that so many times out of ten when it comes to this stuff. But, think of a dam.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Water flows through the dam, turning the turbines thus powering the generators that make electricity. You follow me so far?” Desmond just nodded again, Hawk held the Cube out flat in his palm. “This is the water,” and a truly mad grin came to his face. Desmond stared at it as what Hawk had just said sunk in.

“So then… what does it power?”

“Who knows! Maybe there’s one in the middle of an Apple…” and then he practically fell over himself and grabbed his Apple from a small pedestal, the Cube being forgotten for now. “Can I borrow yours?” he asked suddenly, holding his Apple in one hand.

“Huh? Sure. It’s in my room, I’ll go get it.”

“Okay, thanks, appropriate Ezio’s while you’re at it,” and then he turned away consumed with his own mind. 

Desmond just chuckled and left Hawk’s workshop. He went downstairs to where his room was and as he based by the living room he saw Altair and Jake in there. They were sitting on opposite sides of the room, at opposite ends of their specific couch/chair and silently watching some show that was all in Arabic, the man on the TV wore a turban and had a big black beard. It was pretty damn surreal actually.

Then he was walking past the both of them and went to his room. It didn’t look like someone lived in the room either. 

Jake’s room was a mess of clothes and an unmade bed and the dresser was _always_ open, the table covered in food wrappers and his desk chair piled with clean clothes. Ezio always had his drapes open and had shoved his bed to the far side of the room, facing the door, so he could see if anyone came in, and his desk was a disorganized mess of whatever the fuck he wanted and his closet was open most of the time and his clothes were folded and ordered by color and sleeve length, he had a few tasteful nudes on his walls. Hawk’s room was even messier then Jake’s, and the sheets were always balled into a knot, the mirror on the wall was crooked, the drapes dark and closed tightly to the light and tools _everywhere_ and if you went in his room expect to step on a nut at least once. Clay’s room looked like five people lived there; five amazingly organized and neat people who all did things very differently. His bed was military made, his clothes hung like a woman’s in the closet, his desk kept like a five year old in a sort of organized chaos of stacks and groups, his shoes were lined up on the wall next to the door and he had a rug in his room placed at an angle. Altair didn’t have a room, when he slept it usually happened on the couch and Desmond wasn’t sure where he kept his clothes. He was sort of afraid to ask and had just stuck to assuming that he just _willed_ them into existence each morning and burned the old ones.

All those rooms (except Altair but Altair always seemed to be the exception wasn’t he?) looked lived in. Desmond’s did not. His bed was made, his closet was empty and there were three stacks of folded clothes on his desk. The desk chair was in the desk and there was nothing on his walls or floor except his hamper. His sheets were white (and Hawk had given him the choice of any color he could possibly want (apparently that was Ezio’s fault when he’d bought the entire inventory of something like a bed bath and beyond for kicks because he’d felt like it)) and it was like it hadn’t been touched in weeks. His Apple was in a small bowl on the table in front of his stack of shorts and jeans, only four pairs and he picked it up, rolling it in his hand a moment and looked at his room a moment. At first he’d thought to do something with it, something to distract himself from Altair’s death. He never had. Not for lack of Ezio trying to help either but after going shopping with him once he’d decided to not let that happen again, not to mention Ezio’s room was candy apple red.

Where was Ezio anyway? He hadn’t seen him all day. He grinned at his Apple and did as Altair had taught him. The nausea hit but he pushed past it quickly. He wasn’t even in the White Room for a second before picturing Ezio down to the last fine detail of the way he kept his hair _just so_. He found him a few seconds later, he was outside, running the three mile loop of the island coast. Okay then. He returned to himself and went to Ezio’s room where he found the Apple half hidden in that wreck of his desk.

Hawk looked delighted to see him. “Gimmie,” and Desmond handed the two Apples over. “Okay, okay, now, I want you to do something,” and he towed Desmond to his desk. He put the Cube in his hand and strapped the magnifying goggles on him suddenly.

“Ah! Hawk, what the hell?” and he pushed at the goggles to make them set right on his face.

“Go into Eagle Vision,” Desmond did so, humoring him, “What do you see?”

“It looked gray,” he said boredly.

“No, look _harder_ ,” Hawk insisted.

He sighed and concentrated, “Okay… it looks… black?”

“Really?”

“Yes. Should it?”

“Maybe. What do you see at the center?”

“A dot.”

“Color?”

“Black.”

And then the Cube was being yanked out of his hand and an Apple replaced it. It was inert in his palm so that meant it was Hawk’s Apple. “Now what do you see?”

“…An Apple,” he said, giving his ancestor a confused look, sounding bewildered.

“That’s it?”

“Yes…” he said slowly.

“Damnit,” and then the goggles were being yanked off and he squawked in protest. “Okay, hmmmm… so that doesn’t work,” he said to himself quietly, “Or it’s just not possible right now… mmmmm.”

“Wanna clue me in Hawk?” he asked.

“Once I get a clue,” Hawk smirked at him. “I’m ganna hold on to this,” he motioned to the other two Apples, Desmond nodded. “But thanks for helping me, I’m done with the Cube today so your assistance is no longer required. Thank goodness too as you’re an _ugly_ cute lab assistant.”

“Oh shut up,” Desmond growled without heat. Hawk just grinned at him again. “Fine. I’ll go sit between Altair and Jake and try to pretend they aren’t being awkward,” Hawk laughed now. Then the old Assassin was more interested in his hologram and Desmond left the lab and forwent making Altair and Jake uncomfortable and went to his room. He sat in the empty space on his bed before laying on it the wrong way. The white walls echoed his thoughts; empty.


	43. Worms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation notes at the bottom

It was an actually strange dinner. Not because of what was on the table, it was relatively normal everyone had cooked something they were good at making. So some flavors were strange together, but not bad he would say.

He'd made pizza, several pizzas. When he couldn't get a job as a bike mechanic or a bartender he slung dough at pizza parlors. It hadn't been the most well paying job but it had usually offered free food, which was good since when he made pizza bills came first and sometimes there wasn't always enough money to buy food that month. He'd made his favorites because he could, and a cheese, for Clay, who'd asked nicely.

Ezio had made something French and swimming in cream. Desmond couldn't even pronounce it to tell you what it was called, but it had smelled _amazing_ while he was cooking it. He couldn't do Italian anymore, ever again probably, not until Italian was something different then what it was now. Too big of a heart made him miss the life, and the food, he no longer had. Altair had told him, when he'd asked 'why not Italian?', in a quiet voice that he hadn't seen Ezio touch anything from his homeland since the eighteen hundreds. Though pizza was okay apparently since pizza was a modern, and a mostly American invention. According to Altair the last time it had happened a waiter had brought it to him by accident and only because Altair had been there to restrain him he hadn't killed both the waiter and the head chef. So yeah, no Italian for Ezio.

Hawk had made some sort of soup he'd never heard of with coconut milk, chicken and so much lemon, and lemon grass the kitchen would smell like it for days. The broth was opaque and pale in color. It was some Southeast Asian recipe Hawk had convinced an old woman to give him in exchange for two goats and a chicken to cook it. Apparently it was nectar of the gods. Smelling it Desmond had to agree.

Apparently Hawk had an _extensive_ above ground cellar for alcohol, be it wine, Scotch, whiskey, vodka. You name it, he had it, and had it old and in several bottles and flavors. He'd done that for a few decades back in the late nineteenth century, amassed a great collection just before starting to build this house here in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Some of his best were pre American Prohibition apparently. Altair had gone there about half an hour before dinner and brought out two wines and a bourbon, all of which were older then any human being on the planet excluding the three who were older than dirt. Altair wasn't allowed near a stove or range anymore, Desmond still didn't know why. He _didn’t want to know_. But of any of them he had the best spirits pallet more then likely at least, he was old and knew the good from the really, _really_ , good.

Jake had make something Desmond had never heard of, he said they were called 'Armenian Pizza' or Maneesh. They were pita, with cheese melted on the bottom, no sauce, and then Middle Eastern cured meats and, if you wanted, vegetables on top. He'd, amazingly, managed to dig some meats up from one of the house's large, walk in, freezers, behind some more obvious looking sausages and salamis. Apparently they were becoming popular in New York in the Middle Eastern cafés and bistros because they were easy to make and you could make the pita and cheese part well in advance. Just throw it in a toaster oven with the meat and veggies. Jake said he'd lived on the things for a few months when he'd finished college and trying desperately to pay his loans off, since he could make them at the cafe he worked at.

Lastly, Clay, did a fish fry. A _fresh_ fish fry and massive salad with tomatoes bigger then your fist. Clay liked to fish, off the dock, spear fishing, and off the small boat he kept on the dock. It occupied most of his day apparently even with all of them here, and he, Desmond, and Jake, usually had some sort of fish something for dinner every night. Clay had gotten good at cooking it a variety of different ways in the past few months. Tonight was just a simple fish fry, and since pizzas weren't really a vegetable (no matter what stupid decree the United States Congress made) he'd also made a salad with a salad dressing he bought on the subcontinent that he said would put hair on your chest.

But all that different food wasn't why it was weird. No. It was weird because they were all eating together. 

Usually he, Clay and Jacob ate regularly, at regular hours, together. It involved a good way for venting on Jake and Desmond's part about their training and compare who had the bigger rug/sand/road burn. Or form strategies for the nightly manhunt activity which was as much a bonding experience as it was training, usually the rookies hunting the seasoned veterans, just to make it interesting. Ezio had a bagel for breakfast at dawn and then went for a run and sometimes they didn't see him again till late. He always ate dinner at about eleven pm at night. Hawk ate when Desmond or Clay (and sometimes Ezio, but never Jake or Altair. Jake because he still hadn't quite forgiven the immortal for what he'd done, and Altair because he was no one's mom.) found him in one of his workshops and shoved a sandwich in his face. Altair ate when he was hungry, which was about as common as him being tired and Desmond was still half convinced he was part plant and just synthesized sunlight and air.

Tonight though, they were all here, gathered around the big, handmade, wooden table. If it had been any better made then it was the table would have sagged under the weight of the plates and food and glasses and Clay had left to go drag Hawk from his top story workshop since he’d left when he’d left his soup on low heat to keep warm after it had finished cooking. Desmond sat across from Altair at the head of the table, and Jake sat on his left, Ezio next to Jake. 

“Where the hell are they? I’m starving,” Jake groaned, eyeing the cream stewed meat Ezio had made.

“You’ll live,” Ezio chuckled.

“Not like you can starve,” Altair added.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Jake rolled his eyes, Desmond just grinned.

“Found him!” Clay called, dragging Hawk in nearly by his ear.

“Oh good. We were worried you’d gotten lost,” Ezio teased and Clay practically tossed the short man into the other chair next to Desmond and took the last chair next to Altair for himself.

“Can we eat now?” Jake asked with a huff.

“Yes. My god you’re worse then Desmond,” Altair said.

“Screw you Altair,” and he flipped Altair a good natured rude gesture that made the old man smirk.

Jake needed no further prompting. He grabbed the platter with the cream sauce thing and spooned some onto his plate. “So what is this anyway?” and Ezio said the confusing French name, “In English please,” and Ezio laughed as Jake handed him the platter.

“Rabbit in white wine cream sauce,” Ezio said as Desmond was playing hot potato with one of the Maneesh with bastrama sliced super thin on it.

“Rabbit? Where did you get rabbit?”

“You can get basically any meat you want on the main land,” Clay said. “I’ve had rat once-

“That’s so gross,” Jake said making a face.

“It wasn’t awful,” Clay said. “I know these two,” he motioned to Ezio and Altair with the big fork he was using to put fish on his plate, “Have had their fare share of rats.”

“Uhg,” Jake and Desmond said at the same time, sharing the same sentiment for grossness.

“Well, I’m definitely not kissing you again,” Jake said and Altair wordlessly flicked Ezio in the shoulder before leaning over and saying something in his ear.

“This’ll be good,” Hawk whispered to him when Ezio snorted, nodded, and sat up straight to smack Jake in the back of the head. It was when he was taking a sip of the wine and it ended up coming out his nose back into his glass. The entire table roared as Jake coughed a little and grabbed a napkin to wipe his face.

“Lemmie get that for you,” Clay said once they’d calmed down enough took Jake’s wine glass and left for the kitchen a few feet away. 

“Was that _really_ necessary?” Jake growled at Altair.

“I thought it was amusing.”

“Air il’e yoshmotak,” Jake said, only with a little venom and Desmond snorted into his food disgustingly. Ouch much.

“Itnayyil bi-niila,” was Altair’s prim response.

“Here you go,” Clay came back with Jake’s glass, now with fresh wine cause who wanted to drink wine that had come out your nose? No one, that’s who. “What I miss?”

“Lessons in Arabic insultry apparently,” Hawk said in slightly bored amusement. Jake and Altair were still going at it too, just very casually getting worse and worse even as Jake sipped his wine and Desmond was having a _very_ hard time keeping a straight face because translated out they were pretty stupid and silly sounding in english.

“Oh goodie,” Clay said reaching across the table and picking up the cheese pizza. He picked out two slices and then put some of his fried fish on it.

“Really Clay? That’s why you had me make that?” Desmond asked.

“What? I’m combining two equally amazing things into one super amazing thing,” and he took a pointed bite of it.

“Would you two stop? Oh my god really how many ways can you insult one another’s mother?” Desmond asked Jake and Altair who were half glaring at each other from across Ezio, though Jake was also grinning a little.

The two looked at him, “You’re kidding right?” Jake asked him. “Arabs have worse yo mamma jokes then America. Besides, he doesn’t have one,” he nodded at Altair.

“Hey now. I do,” Altair grunted.

“She’s just dead,” Jake said without even batting an eyelash.

“Well, yes…” and Altair sounded like he wasn’t sure if he’d just been insulted or not. Jake laughed at him. Altair rolled his eyes at him and actually turned to his plate which had somehow amassed a huge amount of food while he was swapping insults with Jake.

“And you call me a child,” Hawk grumbled, he’d made an utter mess of his plate. Altair said something to him in some language that Desmond _really_ didn’t know and the tips of Hawk’s ears turned vibrant red. “You’re a jerk,” Hawk said, hunched over and shoveled food into his mouth.

After that it was nice. Mostly. Sometimes Jake or Altair would shoot an underhanded insult at the other in Arabic and everyone just rolled their eyes though sometimes he and Clay would laugh because they were ridiculous and awful. Not like bad. But like really, they were lame and funny when translated out. A lot of them dealt with what sort of animals the other liked to fuck, shoes (yes, _shoes)_ , and various things about their mothers and fathers. Some of them were wince worry, or made Clay and Desmond high five the one closest to them depending on who had said it, and some just made them laugh. Other then that though it was a very calm, very _normal_ family dinner.

Desmond couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one of those. He could never remember his mother cooking anything, ever. Mostly he remembered her leaving early in the morning to go to a friend’s, or lock herself in her room all day. Kaley didn’t cook, didn’t clean, didn’t do anything. Andrew was basically the leader of the Farm, and was always busy helping other and fucking other men’s women. He realized his father was a home wrecker at a surprisingly early age, Duncan always just said ‘he loves other women more then our mommy’, he didn’t get it till he’d hit puberty. Duncan had cooked before he killed himself. Simple things though or heated things in the microwave that the neighbors gave them since their parents were so negligent (and they _knew_ their parents were negligent). Desmond had started cooking for himself for real when he’d run away since eating out was expensive.

Thinking about it, he’d never actually _had_ a family dinner like this _until this_. Not this moment specifically. But this entire thing with his ancestors.  It didn’t happen all that often really, and this was the first home cooked one, but family meals at a restaurant after a fight, or one of them got separated. That had happened. He liked it. He liked this. He liked having _this_. This weird normal thing that happened amid all the bizarre of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the Arabic in this chapter Jake basically tells Altair “I hope you get slapped by a dick” to which Altair replies to with something akin to “go to hell.”
> 
> I… had waaaay too much fun looking up Arabic insults for this chapter.


	44. Picking at Seed

Eventually, dinner ended, without any food getting thrown at anyone (you’d be surprised how often that actually happened!) and without someone actually insulting someone else (Altair and Jake not withstanding but it was understood they weren’t out to actually hurt each other), or any blood shed (another thing you’d be surprised how often it actually happen). There was a game of rock paper scissors to determine who had to clean up the mess of who he, Ezio, and Jake all lost. Desmond didn’t mind though. Jake complained and Ezio just grabbed them both by the back of the neck and steered them into the kitchen.

It was _in ruin_.

Pots and pans were stacked to the side of the sink and a myriad of kitchen knives littered the entire place along with wooden spoons and ladles and spatulas. Flour covered the counter from Desmond making his pizzas and the stove was a mess the likes of which Desmond hadn’t seen in a long, long, time. It was covered in grease and sauce that had been baked on and needed to be scrubbed off. There were dirty plates stacked up a foot high in several places and other plates and platters with leftover food that needed to be put away. It was just sort of overwhelming.

“Seriously?” Jake moaned.

“Oh it isn’t that bad,” Desmond said.

“And you have comparison?” he grumbled.

“I had a roommate once who made homemade spaghetti sauce, forgot it was in the pot and ended up getting it all over the range, freaked out and left for me to clean up. So yes, I do,” he said seriously.

“C’mon you two, lets get started,” Ezio said and rolled up his sleeves. Jake just groaned again but did as he was bid. He set Jake to emptying all the platters and dishes into tupperware containers and putting them in the fridge, while he and Desmond started to tackle the pots and pans in the sink.

“This was nice,” Desmond said as he turned on the water.

“It was,” Ezio nodded and dumped a bunch of empty pans and pots into the soapy water as Jake rummaged around for the tupperwares.

“You think we could do it again?” he asked and handed Ezio a handful of steel wool and poured soap into the sink.

“Possibly. You’ll have to ask Altair. Usually when he says jump the others do.”

“I will then,” and the sink filled up, they worked in an easy silence to Jake’s grumbling about ‘oh my god what _is that_?’ and ‘this looks gross out of context’ and ‘shit will this stain the plastic?’ “Hey, Ezio?” he started.

“Yes _bambino_?” he asked and gave him a smile.

“What are we doing?”

“Hm?”

“Here I mean. What’s the purpose of being here.”

“You might want to ask a priest that-

Desmond laughed, “Not like that,” he said. “I meant here. On this island.”

“Oh, well. If something happens to us, and like _really_ happens to us, and we’re together, we meet back here if the situation is hot.”

“Like how we meet at restaurants if we’re separated.”

“Yes. Only this is usually if one of us dies in a bad way. We retreat, regroup, figure out what to do next.”

“So, what happens next? I mean Altair’s back, I haven’t heard any of you talking about leaving,” and he scrubbed at a particularly tough spot from Clay’s fish fry.

“It’s a good place,” Ezio said, rinsing out a pan one last time, and putting it in the drying rack.

“Done with the food,” Jake announced.

“Then start putting the normal dishes in the washer. If it can’t fit put it in the sink,” Ezio said, Jake nodded and went to work. “It’s a good place for us. Here we don’t have to pretend to be of these last few decades. Also it’s good because you and Jake can practice without us having to run from Templars.”

“But what then?”

“I dunno,” Ezio said with a bit of a shrug. “When you’re ready, we’ll leave I guess. There are other things to do.”

“But you guys have forever to do them,” Desmond said, “I’m the only one with a time limit.”

“Yeah,” he agreed slowly.

“What do you even want to do?” he put a pot on the drying rack.

“A long time ago Altair saw this,” Ezio said. “I can’t see through time, Hawk’s learning, but his Apple is difficult. Altair can, but he’s seemingly always been the exception to the rule. He saw _someone_ ending the Ever War between the Templars and Assassins. It wasn’t any of us.”

“Me,” Desmond said.

“He thinks so.”

“ _Thinks so_?” well that was reassuring.

“It was like eight hundred years ago after he’d finally kicked his drinking habit okay? Seeing through time isn’t easy, it takes a lot of concentration, an obscene amount of will, you have to be stubborn to wrest the Apple into doing that. It’s like scrying, only much tricker, as time isn’t constant. Anything can change the future, like a butterfly effect. So he saw _someone_. Twenty five years ago he thought it was your brother,” well that kinda stung. “But the Ever War ended, because of them.”

“No pressure,” Desmond said, hunching his shoulders a little as he scrubbed at a pan.

“We’ll be here every step of the way,” Ezio reminded him, “You aren’t alone in this.”

He glanced at Ezio and smiled a little, “Yeah,” he agreed.

Suddenly Jake was pushing between the two of them, “What are you guys muttering about over here?” he asked.

“None of your business,” and Desmond shoved him away by the head. He was pushed into Ezio who wasn’t expecting it and they went down in a thump and tangle of limbs. Desmond laughed at them.

“Very funny Desmond,” Ezio rolled his eyes and he shoved Jake off him.

“What is it with you people and man handling me? I’m a delicate flower,” Jake moped, righting himself and sitting on the floor as Ezio got to his feet. Desmond and Ezio traded looks before snorting with laughter. “Hey!” he cried indignantly. Desmond just squirted him with the sink hose and the New Yorker leapt to his feet with a yelp and wrestled it from him. Five minutes later they were all thoroughly soaked.

“What’s going on in here?” Altair asked, sticking his head in. They accidentally sprayed him in the face with the hose and everything just _stopped_ as Altair glowered at them, his face, hair and shirt front dripping wet.

“Uh… nothing,” Ezio said awkwardly and they all turned away from Altair who just had the most unamused and unimpressed and displeased look on his face and they did their best to ignore him and finish cleaning up the kitchen. A minute later Ezio glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously and, seeing Altair was gone, gave Desmond and Jake a thumbs up. They all sort of laughed in relief to have avoided a worse fate then death. Well death for Ezio and Jake. Possibly something that would have made Desmond wish he was dead.

“Well that was close,” Jake said and he and Ezio snorted. The rest of the cleanup went off without incident, despite Jake’s bitching, and while it took them almost an hour when they were done the kitchen was _spotless_. 

“I think we should be rewarded for this,” Desmond proclaimed.

“What did you have in mind?” Jake asked.

“Well, I know a recipe for a really excellent dessert cocktail that isn’t chokingly sweet,” he said thoughtfully. “And I could use a drink.”

“Here here!” Ezio agreed.

“I like my drinks sweet,” Jake said.

“Okay, I’ll make you something appropriately teeth rotting,” Desmond teased him.

“Oh goodie,” he said with dry sarcasm and rolled his eyes. Desmond went to find what he wanted to use in Hawk’s big above ground cellar, and returned to Ezio and Jake sitting at the dinning room table, talking. Well, Ezio talking (as Ezio was known to do, he enjoyed the sound of his voice quite a bit after all) and Jake listening and looking content and tired. Desmond made their drinks, though Jake’s was different and much sweeter and creamier because of some old, dessert, Bailey’s Desmond had found. It was nice though, until Altair appeared and dragged Ezio away for, probably, some unknown torture for spraying him in the face. 

He and Jake took bets on Ezio making it out alive and while they both agreed Ezio _wouldn’t_ make it out alive it was more of how it’d happen. Jake insisted a broken neck. Desmond thought Altair was more creative then that and he’d lose one of his kidneys when Altair pulled it from his body. This was after they’d both had maybe too much to drink though and ended up bickering about it for a bit before Clay found them and dragged them to their rooms, because it was late and they still had training in the morning, early morning, since they didn’t have night hunting. 

Desmond hit his pillow hard and slept the sleep of those without worry.


	45. Corvus

The place was familiar now. The four megaliths of the Ancients at the four corners of an invisible ring, Desmond sitting within the comforting glow of a million, endless, stars, and the golden eyes of Others, watching from shadows he couldn’t penetrate.

Venus was ever the only one who ever moved, seeming to step down from a pedestal, though there was no pedestal, she just suddenly seemed a lot closer, smaller, and more delicate. He had a feeling that up there he could see her for as she was, as she really was. But he could never remember what that looked like, instead all he could remember her was looking like Lucy as she kneeled next to him.

“What is this place?” he asked her when they seemed to stay there for a life time.

“A safe place,” she said with a smile. “They can’t see you here. It’s an island,” she ran her hand through the star field, they warped around her fingers like a boat’s wake.

“Who can’t?” he asked.

“Them,” she motioned up to Minerva, Juno, and Jupiter, and then out, to the other eyes, a dozen other pairs that seemed  to stalk around them like hungry lions.

“But you can?”

“I can,” she agreed.

“Why?”

“Because, like you, I’m special,” she smiled coyly at him. “I get into places that one was not meant to go,” he jerked back when she ran the back of her knuckles across his cheek. “They’re all old,” she looked up at the others, around him, “They’ve _forgotten_ ,” she seemed pleased by this.

He shook what was his head, but he still wasn’t sure he had a body. He could touch and feel and was _aware_ that he had a body of some sort, he just wasn’t sure it was _his_ body. “Forgotten what?” he asked her, drawing her attention back to him.

Lucy’s blue eyes lit up, delighted, though not in a way she would, it was still Venus, she was just wearing this sort of mask. Like Desmond she had a body, but it wasn’t _her_ body. “That you people will always find a way,” her lips curled back from her teeth when she smiled, it didn’t look like Lucy at all. “We were sixteen once, now we are more, and none of them realize it.”

“What?” that was just confusing, and Desmond had had enough confusing shit to last him a life time.

“It will become clear,” she promised. Then she stood up and Desmond had to look up at her where he was sitting. He felt like a small child next to her, having to crane his head far back to continue to see her face. Venus brushed her fingers through his hair, “Are you ready?” she asked him.

He blinked at her, “Yes,” he said, like his mouth was moving on it’s own.

“Good. Good,” she looked up into the total darkness above them. “You’re going to leave, and I won’t be able to see you, not without them knowing,” she said. “So heed this warning,” she looked down at him again, her blue eyes serious. “Beware the last world,” she said softly.

—

Desmond woke up with something like a hangover. He felt wrecked and tired. Outside it was still mostly dark, but it was lightening quickly outside. He pressed his hand to his head. What the fuck was that dream? He already was having trouble remembering. Something about sixteen of something… right? Or was it an age. And the last world? What? No. World? Planet? No, world, definitely world.

“Uhg,” he rolled out of bed with a thud. He held there on his elbows and knees for a few moments before shaking his head and getting up. He wandered out of his room to the bathroom to deal with that before morning training. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth and then went to get dressed in a pair of shorts. No shirts in the morning because it was outside, before the sun became overbearing.

Ezio had already come and gone that morning and only the lingering smell of his brief breakfast showed he’d even been awake. Desmond made coffee, leaning against the counter in the empty kitchen. He could hear others moving about the house, upstairs he heard a shower, and down the hall there was the opening and closing of a door.

The coffee maker hissed and snapped, Desmond closed his eyes tiredly, leaning hard on the counter. The water hissed, boiled and bubbled, brewing and then he heard the drip against the glass bottom on the hot plate. He cracked his eyes a little and looked at the coffee pot and then outward.

“Holy shit!” he yelped and jerked in surprise, nearly falling over his own feet.

Altair laughed at him from the island. “Surprise you?” he asked.

“Yes. Oh my god, you gave me a fucking heart attack,” he pressed his hand to his chest where his heart was beating way too fast for this early in the morning.

“Keep you on your toes,” and Altair drank from a small cup in front of him.

“What is that?” Desmond asked.

“Arak,” he said, setting the cup down in front of him.

“It’s like six in the morning,” Desmond squinted at him.

“I didn’t sleep last night, I don’t care what time it is,” Altair reminded him. “And what are you, my mother?” he sent Desmond a look.

“Someone should be,” Desmond grumbled.

Altair just found that amusing. “You let me worry about what I’m drinking. Now make your coffee with too much sugar,” he added, motioning to the coffee pot.”

Desmond looked and saw there was enough for a cup. He grabbed a mug and poured himself some, the drips hissing on the hot plate before the pot was back under it. Desmond shot Altair a look as he poured… way too much sugar okay he liked his coffee sweet he didn’t care, fuck Altair anyway. Altair continued to look amused. Once his coffee was the way he liked it he went to the island and leaned against it. “So.”

“So?” Altair rose a brow at him and took a sip of his cloudy arak.

“I had a _really_ weird dream last night,” Desmond said, wrapping his fingers around his mud.

“Oh?” he seemed interested, “What about?”

“Well, it’s sort of a reoccurring dream, though it’s not the same and-

“Tell me,” Altair said, “All of it.”

“Okay,” he said and told Altair about the first one he’d had, a few days before Altair had arrived. He told him about Venus, and what he could remember she told him, it was a pitiful amount, as he didn’t remember a lot. Then he told Altair about his dream last night, Altair didn’t say anything the entire time, just listening calmly. “And that’s it,” he said as Clay wandered into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee. “It sort of reminded me of what Juno said.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said, ‘find the sixth’ or something like that. It’s been a while,” he said thoughtfully and cook a sip of his coffee. “And some other stuff but I sort of had a massive psychological trauma immediately after and fell into a coma, I don’t really remember much,” from across the counter Clay snorted. Desmond just smiled.

“Good to know you can effectually make fun of yourself,” Altair said mildly, though still serious. “But really, what else did Juno say? Usually the AIs don’t talk when you enter a Temple. The last one I’ve heard talk other then Venus was just second hand when Ezio told me about Minerva,” he said.

“Looks like I’m special again and even get crazy AIs to talk to me,” Desmond took another sip of his coffee. “Mmm,” he made a face as he thought. “Something like we have five senses, they have six. Uh, a final journey of some sort.”

“What else?”

“A cross darkens the horizon,” Desmond said, staring at Altair.

“It always does,” Altair said gravely.

“Awaken the Sixth, that’s what she said, before I…”

Altair didn’t say anything, “Clay,” he said, Desmond looked at the blonde who was leaning against the counter, watching them silently, holding his cup of coffee. “You know anything about this? Didn’t one of them speak to you?”

Clay smiled crookedly, “It was a message for Desmond. They’re _all_ messages for Desmond.”

“The Sixth,” Altair prompted.

“Hmmm,” Clay looked far away, pupils dilating out to as far as they’d go, his eyes moving, but clearly he wasn’t seeing what they were. Then he blinked and focused on them, “I’ll have to look more. I didn’t find anything in the three hundred years though.”

“Do that,” then Altair looked at Desmond again. “Anything else?”

“Not… really. I mean it sorta doesn’t mean anything now.”

“What?”

He gave a big sigh, “She lies not within our sight, and something about one of my companions being not what I thought they were. Doesn’t matter now,” he shrugged, trying to be nonchalance. Altair nodded. “So, what do you think?”

Altair bit his lip for a moment, staring into his arak, “I think we need to figure that out. There’s been other stuff up till now, driving us. But if you’re having _dreams_ with an Ancient in it then it can’t be good-

“You’re having dreams with an Ancient in it?” Clay asked.

“Yeah,” Desmond nodded.

“I did too. Then I decided to kill myself.”

“Thanks for that _ringing_ endorsement Clay,” Desmond said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

“What’d they say?” Altair asked Clay.

“Nothing important or useful,” Clay said. “All about the Truth and shit,” he flapped his hand at Altair who nodded.

“So are we going to leave?” Desmond asked Altair.

“Do you want to?” Altair asked.

“Well… if we have to. I mean, we should. Right? Figure out what Juno meant right?”

“Or we could ignore her. She and the rest are dead after all,” he shrugged. Something ticked at the back of his head but he couldn’t remember. Like something Venus had said in a dream, but he couldn’t remember.

“No,” he shook his head, “I don’t think we should ignore this.”

“All right,” Altair said, drumming his fingers on the table. “I’ll tell Hawk to look into what the Orders are doing,” that was funny. Orders. He didn’t even differentiate. There was no Order of Templars or Brotherhood of Assassins, they were one thing, one ugly thing that wanted the same things now. “He’s been having too much fun playing with that Cube and hasn’t been keeping tabs on them like he should.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll figure something out,” and then he downed the rest of his arak with a hiss and pushed himself up. “Now, I need to go wake a novice who hasn’t figured it’s in his best interested to wake up before me.”

“You don’t sleep though,” Desmond reminded him.

“I know.”

“God don’t sound so pleased with yourself!” Desmond called after him as Altair left the kitchen. He turned to Clay, who smiled at him crookedly and they both looked towards Jake’s room when they heard a loud ‘GOD DAMNIT ALTAIR YOU FUCKING NOVICE WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!?’ He and Clay laughed.


	46. Binocular Vision

Desmond rose a brow at his ancestor suspiciously. Hawk just grinned widely at him. Desmond sort of scowled at him, he didn’t like this. He didn’t like they were making him do this. But it was necessary since the _last_ time he’d been separated from them for an extended amount of time he’d gotten them all into a massive amount of trouble. Trouble being spelled J-a-c-o-b since Desmond had lost his ear piece, which was more like a walki talkie, since they didn’t have phones. You could trace a phone. The ear pieces had been Hawk’s design, and worked very well. Just not if you lost one, like Desmond had.

The other man's face was glowing with some sort of apparatus strapped to his face and covering his eyes. This in turn magnified his brown eyes ten fold so they appeared huge like anime eyes. But Desmond could overlook the magnification. The lighting both inside and outside by golden light like his yes were shifted into the Eagle Vision but also seemed more then that, like Eagle Vision only began to cover the sight Hawk was looking through. He remembered as Ezio had gotten older his Vision had mutated, grown and expanded beyond simple friend and foe. He had a feeling that was similar to what Hawk was doing. But a golden light also was shining onto his eyes from the mask he wore and made them seem to glow in a way that's made him think of the Ancients. Like those pairs of eyes that watched him from beyond the darkness.

"Don't look so scared Little Bird," Hawk said gently.

"I'd be a lot /less/ if you told me what the hell you're doing," Desmond said.

"Fun new toy," Hawk grinned at him.

"Oh joy."

"Do you trust me?" Hawk asked him seriously.

"Yes," Desmond said without hesitation.

"Then relax, it won't hurt unless you move-

"What are you going to do?" his voice rose half an octave as he spoke. He was nervous, it happened. Especially when it came to Hawk. He trusted the man explicitly, but none of them told him what was happening. Altair had just shown up where he was playing ping pong with Jake, Ezio and Clay (two on two, the two immortals verses the two coma patients. He was proud to say he and Clay were kicking _a lot_ of ass too), grabbed him by the arm and dragged him upstairs to Hawk’s main workshop, the one with walls made of windows and two sky lights. There was a ridiculous amount of light in the room.

"Its fine," he twisted around and saw Altair behind him and the older men placed a hand on his shoulder. “Security measure," he explained.

“O-ka-y,” Desmond said slowly. “Like?”

“Like you won’t be able to _drop it_ ,” Hawk said.

“Hey, I got smashed in the head by a Templar Jeep when I lost it, fuck off,” Desmond grumbled. “Why didn’t you think of this before anyway?”

“Just came up with it that’s why. Some of the tech I got from the Vault helped me figure it out. Also the Apple, I managed to see into the future a bit. _Everyone_ had something like this,” he explained with a few broad hand gestures. “So hush up and take it like a man, it’ll hurt for about two seconds.”

"Yeah, funny, I wont be alive for whatever fashion statement you want to give me," he said acidically.

"If you're lucky," Altair agreed and squeezed his shoulder, Desmond looked up at him but the immortal's face was expressionless.

“Okay, do it," he sighed and put up a brave face, still not even knowing what Hawk was going to do.

"Good. Now, there is going to be two pinches," Hawk said and pulled out-

"You are not giving me an earring!" Desmond yelped, batting away the piercing gun. Or what _looked_ like a piercing gun.

"Oh grow up. Its the fucking twenty-first century. It doesn't mean anything anymore,” Hawk scoffed. “And I’m _not_ going to give you an earring, so calm down.” Desmond pouted at him. “Oh now what?” Hawk sighed, the gun hanging from his fingers dramatically.

"I swore ink would be the last dumb thing I did to my body."

"Broke that rule already when you let yourself get kidnapped," Hawk teased. "Also your tattoo isn't the worst I've ever seen. Little Eagle had an _awful_ one," and he smirked at Altair who rumbled, and it took Desmond a second to realize it was a chuckle.

"Had?"

"Getting half the skin burned off your body tends to take care of that," Hawk said jokingly, even though it wasn't really a thing to joke about.

"You'd almost think he did it on purpose," Altair added. “Now,” he squeezed Desmond’s shoulder reassuringly, “let Hawk  do his thing.”

“And it isn’t an earring?”

“No,” Hawk promised. “It’s going to go right here,” and he reached behind Desmond’s ear, pressing into the flesh just behind his jaw.

“What are you doing to-

“Oh my lord, Little Bird, stop asking questions, you’ll see, I promise. We’re all getting one so don’t think you’re getting the short stick here,” Hawk huffed.

Desmond frowned, “Okay,” he said.

“That’s a boy,” Hawk smiled at him. “Now hold still," and Desmond did, though did so sullenly. Hawk wiped down that part of his neck with antiseptic before putting the thing that looked like a piercing gun up behind his ear, the metal tab was cold against his skin. “There are going to be two pinches,” Hawk said. “Say when.”

Desmond took a breath, “When.”

“Pinch,” and Hawk squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked and Desmond felt a jolt, similar to a tattooing needle, only _bigger_ and only once. He did his best not to jump. “And,” he turned to his glass-like computer and swiped his hand across it and pressed three keys, “pinch.”

“Ow!” he yelped when it felt like he got a shock, like a really strong zap of static electricity. It didn’t _hurt_ , it was just a surprise.

"All done!" Hawk announced, "Little Bird want a lollipop for his owie?"

"Screw you Hawk," Desmond said irritably even though he knew Hawk was just having a go at him. He got up and couldn't help but reach up to touch behind his ear. He couldn’t feel anything. Well, okay.

Altair sat where Desmond had been a moment ago. “Get on with it,” he said gruffly, “You know I hate this sort of shit.”

“Always so happy aren’t you Big Eagle?” Hawk said pleasantly. Altair growled. “Whatever you say Grand Master-Oldman," Hawk said sarcastically.

"That's Mr. Grand Master-Oldman to you... kid," Altair smirked and Hawk made a face at him. He swabbed behind Altair’s ear, loaded up the gun and pressed it to Altair’s skin. The gun clicked, and Hawk pressed a few buttons on his computer. Altair showed no sign of having felt anything. “When is it operational?”

“I want to get everyone done before I start it,” Hawk said.

“Okay,” Altair nodded.

“So Jake gets to go through this too?” Desmond asked.

“Don’t remind me,” Hawk sighed. “He still doesn’t like me.”

“I wouldn’t either if I was him,” Altair noted.

“You don’t like anyone on principle of the fact,” Hawk said, sending him a look.

“We know that isn’t true,” Altair said.

“Whatever, go get Ezio and Jake. The sooner this is done the sooner I can show you what it does and Little Bird over there looks just _bursting_ with questions,” Hawk grinned at him.

"Yeah yeah," Altair grumbled and motioned for Desmond to follow him.

"You're not ganna stay for Jake?”

"Ezio can handle Jake,” Altair said. That was beside the fact that Altair had been sort of... avoiding the other man. Okay not just sort of, but unless it was training or they ended up eating together Altair was never in the same room as Jake. Which was sort of a shame since Desmond wasn’t stupid, and neither was Altair, and Jake even less. Altair was just being a bit childish about the entire thing.

"He liiiiikes you," Desmond said in an obnoxious sing song voice, just to piss Altair off. Jake had told him Altair hadn’t talked to him at all about the whole kiss thing like he had. Altair was just pretending it hadn’t happened. It was sort of funny to see the old man actually freaked by something _like that._

“Shut up,” Altair muttered.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“And why would you think that?” Desmond just gave him a look, “Nothing. Happened,” he growled, “I had a wife. So did he.”

“Yeah and the first thing he did when he saw you was-

“I know what he did _I was there_ ,” Altair said quickly, he didn’t even want Desmond to say it. _Touchy_ much.

“What was that thing Hawk said? It’s the twenty-first century?”

“It’s almost like you think I should-

“What? Get laid? Probably,” he pretended to not be affected by Altair’s look which was so wilting it could have peeled wallpaper or killed small animals.

“You already did that if I recall,” Altair muttered under his breathe as they found Ezio, Jake and Clay around a chess board now. Ezio was playing against Jake, and by the look on his face, losing, and badly at that. Ezio had been a fair chess player when he was mortal, and no doubt he’d gotten better. He couldn’t be a badass all the time, even badasses needed a break, or to expand the mind.

“Oi,” Altair announced and Ezio looked greatly relieved to be interrupted. “Hawk’s ready for you,” he jerked his thumb back towards Hawk’s workshop.

“Okay,” and Ezio stood quickly. “C’mon Jake,” Ezio motioned.

“What? Where?”

“Just c’mon, you’ll see,” and he hauled Jake up by the elbow. Altair was looking at Clay as they walked past though Jake was looking from between all three of them in a confused way. He knew he’d had a similar look on his face when Altair had dragged him out of the room. Though because it was Jake and Hawk he had a feeling they’d have to deal with some glaring before Jake let Hawk anywhere _near him_.

Desmond’s head turned, following them until the door closed, “If that’s the problem and you’re worried about sloppy seconds we could share,” and the look Altair gave him snapped his ploy at seriousness in an instant and he laughed, loudly. He actually almost fell over he was laughing. “I was joking. Oh my god _, the look on your face_ ,” he managed to say once he could control himself a bit and wiped a bit of moisture from his eyes from laughing. Altair looked the opposite of amused.

“That wasn’t funny,” he growled.

“You kidding? It’s hilarious,” Desmond said as Clay crouched over Jake’s side of the chess board.

“Check mate,” Clay announced and moved Jake’s king side rook into a position and used his index finger to flick Ezio’s black king over with a satisfied look on his face.

“You getting this done too Clay?” Desmond asked.

“No,” Clay said, not looking at him and setting the board back up. “It’s for field operatives. I’m staying here.”

Desmond frowned, “I thought you wanted to leave.”

Clay paused a moment and then set the white queen down, “I do. But, I need to be here. Someone has to be your back up, right?” he turned to Altair and Desmond.

“Exactly. Honestly I’d rather leave Jake here too,” Altair sighed.

“That’s just cause on the road you can’t avoid him,” Desmond said. Altair glared at him. He was pretty immune to it now though, though that didn’t mean he was _totally_ immune to it. He just knew he wouldn’t suddenly burst into flames, melt, of spontaneously die, when Altair glared at him.

“He’s a _liability_ ,” Altair reminded him pointedly.

“Well so am I,” Desmond said, “Bigger then him, or you forget that the Assassins _and_ Templars want me?”

“Could you say that again, a little less gay this time?” Clay asked.

“Shut up Clay,” he and Altair both said. Clay just snickered. “You’re okay with me coming though,” he said.

“Because you have a destiny,” Altair said.

“Yeah, right,” Desmond said, though not in a pleased way. “Destiny. Great,” he said sarcastically. “But you’re okay with staying Clay?” he asked the blonde.

“Yep,” he nodded and was now playing Chess with himself.

“Well that’s good beca-

He cut off mid sentence when there was a dull pain behind his ear. He squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed where Hawk had injected him. “All right?” Altair asked.

“Just… kinda hurts. Hawk doing this?”

“It hurts a bit,” Altair admitted. “I’m sure it’ll pass.”

“What is… ow, fuck, this really hurts,” he pressed harder on his skin.

“On a scale of one to dying how painful is it?” Altair asked, stepping over to him.

“Branded finger,” Desmond hissed.

“It shouldn’t be that bad. It’s activated now so you shouldn’t even be in _any_ pain.”

“Well that’s great to know,” but it still hurt.

“Hawk,” Altair said in a normal tone, he looked at Altair and his iris was a different color. Not gold, but paler, like there was a film over it. “Get turn off Desmond’s, something’s wrong.”

“Who are you talking to?” he tried to focus on something other then the burning at the top of his jaw.

“Hawk. If it had been working you should have heard him just a moment ago,” Altair was frowning with concern.

Desmond suddenly sighed, “Okay, it’s better,” he said in relief.

“Good,” but he still looked troubled. “C’mon, Hawk says to come back up to the workshop, he’ll take a look,” Desmond nodded and followed after his ancestor, still rubbing his neck, remembering the pain, even though it was gone now. Clay had resumed his chess game when it became obvious Desmond wasn’t about to die.


	47. Blackhawk

After being propelled into Hawk’s workshop Desmond was made to sit. Hawk’s magnifying goggles were on the top of his head now and the lights were turned off. Jake wasn’t there, but Ezio was still and Desmond didn’t even bother to ask why Jake wasn’t and Ezio was. He wondered if Jake would _ever_ forgive Hawk for what he’d done. Well, he had eternity to figure it out so maybe Hawk would redeem himself some way.

“Okay,” Hawk said in a long voice and pushed his wheeled chair over to Desmond. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

“It hurt,” Desmond said.

“Well yeah, it takes a few seconds,” Hawk said.

“It hurt after mine had stopped,” Altair said as Ezio hoisted himself up onto the table next to Desmond. “He said it was like getting banded.”

Hawk frowned, “Yeah that should _not_ happen,” Hawk pushed away from Desmond and rolled across the room and grabbed a few things before coming back. “I’m going to activate it, tell me what it feels like.”

“Is that a good idea?” Ezio asked as Hawk’s hand poised over his computer.

“Well, I have to figure out what’s wrong, so,” Hawk shrugged. “You up for it?” he asked Desmond.

“I guess,” Desmond said, though didn’t sound thrilled by it.

“Okay, three, two, one,” and he pressed a part of the screen. The screen lit green. Desmond’s head twitched and his face twisted.

“Yeah, that hurts,” Desmond said, hand coming up to behind his ear. He still felt nothing. No heat, no bump, nothing.

“Move,” Hawk pushed aside his hand, eyes golden, and pressed something cold and plastic against his neck.

“Will you turn it off?” Desmond asked and now felt it elsewhere.

“Hold on,” Hawk said calmly. The burning sensation wasn’t going away, it wasn’t getting more intense at least. It was just _spreading_ , now from behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Turn it off,” he whined.

“I need-

“Turn it off! It hurts!” Desmond cried and it was Ezio who leaned over and pressed the glass. The screen showed red a moment and the pain vanished. Desmond jerked away from Hawk and ran his hands over his neck and the back of his head, hoping to feel the lines of fire that had been working across his scalp. He felt nothing.

“What the fuck,” Hawk said. “Little Eagle don’t touch my shit,” he snapped.

“It was hurting him,” Ezio said defensively, scowling at Hawk as he motioned to Desmond.

“What’s going on Hawk?” Altair butted in before they could start to argue.

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t turn it on again or I swear to god I’m going to kill you,” Desmond growled.

“Wouldn’t mean much,” Hawk said flippedly and wheeled over to another table.

“It’d make me feel better,” Desmond grumbled.

“Okay ya big baby,” Hawk was back. “No more power for your little bug,” and he pressed something flat and cool to his neck.

“What is it anyway?”

“Independent interface,” Hawk said. “About the size of a needle tip.”

“What is it _supposed_ to do other then feel like it’s killing me?” Desmond grumbled as Hawk grabbed his computer and was busily tapping at the fogged glass.

“Lots of stuff. GPS for starters, which is _amazing_ , so we won’t lose you, ever, hands free communication, and a few other things you’ll figure out as you go but other then us won’t find use for.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Desmond asked, rubbing his neck one last time before dropping his hand so they both fell between his knees.

“Because you aren’t stupidly competitive,” Ezio said. Desmond looked at him questioningly. “Okay, mmm,” and then one of Ezio’s irises paled, like a film now covered it. His eyes moved but he wasn’t looking at any of them and he blinked twice, “Here.”

“He can’t see it Ezio,” Altair reminded him.

“Right I know. So stuff you don’t have to worry about are tallies.”

“…Tallies?”

“Yeah.”

It took Desmond a second, “I didn’t think you kept kill counts,” he said blandly.

“Whoever told you that?” Hawk asked.

“I don’t,” Altair said.

“Yeah well you’re a kill joy and no one likes you,” Hawk said and held his screen up to Desmond’s face. The screen abruptly cleared to transparent and Desmond could see Hawk’s face through it.

“Hawk and I do, sometimes. It makes it interesting.”

“Sometimes we see who can have the _lowest_ kill count.”

“That’s harder though.”

“The fact that it’s harder for you two not to kill someone is so terrifying you have no idea,” Desmond informed them both.

“Well we’re all trained in non lethal combat, Altair there was a Buddhist for like fifty years once,” Ezio motioned to Altair. Desmond looked at him.

“Buddhist?” Desmond rose a brow at him.

Altair shrugged, “It was something I’d never done before,” was his only explanation.

“Knows every form of Shaolin kung-fu and then some, the show off,” Ezio added with a mutter.

“Not all of us show off by being ridiculously annoying Ezio,” Altair drawled.

Ezio rolled his eyes, Hawk still had his screen in front of Desmond’s face and he saw a 3D wire representation of his head on it that Hawk was pushing at. “ _But_ , it also has other things, you can tap into wifi-

“No shit,” Desmond’s head jerked over to look at Ezio.

“Don’t get excited,” Hawk said, screen back in his lap, the glass frosted. “You can’t surf the web.”

“Up to date weather, stuff like that.”

“You all seem… amazingly chill about this.”

“This isn’t the first time Hawk’s done this,” Ezio said.

“What?”

“Last time was mid twentieth century. Not as useful as it is now. Mainly it was just for communication.”

“So why weren’t we using it before?”

“Because it’s out of date and trash,” Hawk said and leaned forward, pushing Desmond’s head around to get a look at behind his ear. “Also these are _much_ smaller. Last ones looked like hearing aids and were audio only. These connect right in with your visual centers, don’t impede your sight, unless you have a bunch of stuff going on at once.”

“I like the eye screens,” Ezio said, amused, with a grin.

“Something new for you to break,” Altair drawled.

“Fuck you Altair. I physically _can’t_ break it.”

“I’m going to turn it on for ten seconds,” Hawk said. “Can you deal with ten seconds?”

“…I think so.”

“Good,” and he tapped his screen and then held it up to Desmond’s head. Desmond braced for the burning but there was no pain. “So?”

“I don’t feel anything,” Desmond said wondering if he sounded as surprised as he felt.

“What?” they all asked, equally surprised, looking at him confusedly.

“I don’t feel anything. No pain, at all,” Desmond said.

“The shit?” Hawk sat back. “That… shouldn’t happen,” he just looked amazingly confused. Desmond wasn’t used to seeing that on his face. “I’m going to turn it off,” he said. “Any change?”

“No,” Desmond said, looking at the three of them in turn with his eyes, his mouth slanted in confusion.

Hawk ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay,” and then he got up and left the room, “be right back,” he called. They stayed in silence for a few moments until Hawk came back with something like looked like a radar gun. He came up behind Desmond and shoved his head to an angle. “You’re a weird one kid,” he informed Desmond.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Desmond said sarcastically, his head tipped to the side and forward. “What is that?” he added.

“Reads electrical currents. Ezio, turn on the thing,” he ordered.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch your stuff.”

“Oh my god just turn it on,” Hawk sniped. Ezio grinned and turned it on. “Any pain?” Hawk asked once the screen blinked green.

“No,” Desmond reported.

“Good,” and he pressed the gun thing to his neck and then along the rest of his head. “Okay,” he let Desmond go and then sat back down and picked up his screen. He moved some things around. “But… that isn’t,” and he let out a long, low, whistle.

“What?”

Altair leaned over Hawk’s shoulder, “That isn’t supposed to happen,” he said and reached down and moved something on the screen.

“Yeah, I know. Well. I guess maybe it could.”

“How did that happen?”

“I have… _no_ _idea_ ,” Hawk said and rubbed his face. “Maybe this is what it’s supposed to look like? Though…”

“Though?” Altair asked.

“… It could be interference,” Hawk glanced at Desmond. “I mean, it isn’t impossible. It’s not the most accurate machine ever.”

“Well, make it accurate.”

“Big Eagle you’re as dumb as the Little one sometimes you know that?” Hawk rolled his eyes. “You want me to see it better I need a fucking MRI. And unless you have one in your back pocket, this is as good as it gets.”

“I can’t get an MRI,” Desmond said.

“What? Of course you can it isn’t— oh right,” he said when Desmond snapped his left arm up, reminding Hawk of his tattoo. 

“So now what?” Altair asked.

“I’ll take it out,” Hawk said, rubbing his head. “You want local anesthesia?” he asked.

“… What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have to make an incision to get it out,” Hawk said.

“So you’ll be digging around?”

“Not much.”

“Of course I want anesthesia are you fucking _insane_?” Desmond snapped, Ezio chuckled.

“If it was us he wouldn’t even give us the option,” Ezio said.

“Because my one joy in life is making you both miserable,” and Desmond wasn’t sure how much of that was sarcastic. “Come with me,” he ordered Desmond and he got up and followed Hawk out of that room.

“You have a clinic,” Desmond said after walking down the hall into a new room.

“I have everything,” he proclaimed.

“Except a pool,” Ezio chimed in.

“… We’re in the middle of the fucking ocean Little Eagle!” Hawk yelled, Ezio just laughed. “Lay down,” he told Desmond, motioning to the gurney, “On your side,” he added. Desmond did so, his eyes moving to look at his ancestors. Altair was leaning against the door jamb, watching with a silent seriousness. Ezio had grabbed the low rolling stool and Hawk was moving around a counter before putting some things on a tray and coming back over to him. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “This should take maybe five minutes,” he said, “just don’t move, got it?”

Desmond nodded and Hawk swabbed his neck, behind his ear and then took a syringe and after flicking it to get out the air bubbles he gave Desmond a dose of the pain killer. “Can you feel that?” Hawk asked after a few moments.

“Should I?”

“Well considering I’m touching your neck, yes.”

“Then no,” and Hawk chuckled. “Okay, close your eyes if you want,” and he pulled a scalpel from the tray on the pedestal next to the gurney. Desmond thought that was a very good idea, and closed his eyes. He didn’t feel anything so he assumed that was a good thing. Hawk put the scalpel back and picked up a narrow rod. “Magnet,” he explained to Desmond’s confused face.

“And you wanted to put me in an MRI,” it was sort of hard to talk though since the anesthetic was at the top of his jaw and had numbed that too.

“Well not with it in it. I’m not that sadistic. Now, hold still,” and he leaned over Desmond.

Then, he felt something. “I shouldn’t feel anything right?”

“…No,” Hawk said and his arm was moving.

“Well,” then he hissed as something _way_ more intense then the burning from before engulfed the back of his head. “I do!” he yelped.

“You just told me you didn’t feel anything.”

“Not there. Back of the head,” he hissed.

“The look on your face is _not_ reassuring,” Ezio said.

“Stop,” Desmond gasped.

“What the living fuck,” and then Hawk was muttering to himself in something not English. Desmond gave a cry, it felt like someone was ripping out every hair on the back of his neck, only about _five thousand_ times worse.

“Hawk,” he groaned.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, sort of panicking now.

“Move,” Altair suddenly said and shoved Hawk over.

“What is even going on?” Hawk asked, there was no answer.

“We’ll figure it out,” Altair said, standing in front of Desmond now. Desmond just looked up at him, very clearly still in pain, the back of his head a wall of fire like he was physically being burned. “But not like this,” and then Altair reached to the back of his neck and applied pressure _just so_. He was so happy when he blacked out.


	48. Stretched for Flight

He thought he was dreaming. No, he was dreaming. Someone was brushing their hands through his hair, and it was warm, the sun was out. It was nice. His head was in someone’s lap and he finally opened his eyes. He blinked. “I thought you were someone else,” he said, looking up at who he knew was Venus. He knew it was Venus because she was dressed like Venus in her simple white shift, and her hair was down. In his dreams Lucy never wore her hair down.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said and ran her hand through his bangs again.

“Do you just… like hurting people or something?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You look like what we want.”

“No. I look like who you love,” she said with a smile that was sweet, but not at all like Lucy.

“Yeah but-

“Yes?” she asked.

“… Never mind.”

“You can’t trick me,” she informed him.

“So then who you were before. Hawk loved her?”

“More then anything he ever had or would again,” she said sadly. “Such a sad man, Hawk,” she frowned a little, her hand stilled and massaged the back of his skull with her finger tips.

“Was that Sarah?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said simply in a somber tone.

“This isn’t where we usually are,” he added, indeed it wasn’t. It looked a lot like the Black Hills actually.

“Nope,” she agreed cheerfully.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” she continued to run her fingers through his hair. “Even to us your kind does things we do not expect, and we pride ourselves in knowing everything. Or we think we do. But no one can know everything.”

“You know what happened to me? Before I passed out.”

“I have an idea. Hawk’s too smart for his own good, yet not as smart as he thinks he is. Sometimes he doesn’t know what he’s doing, what his inventions can _really_ do. He just sort of does things blindly and hopes they work.”

“Yeah well

—

Desmond groaned a little when he woke up. It was dark. Well not dark, but dim. He recognized the feel of his bed, and the way his pillows cradled his head. There was a thick pad gauze taped to the side of his neck where Hawk had cut into him. Someone was still running their hand through his hair and he could feel someone sitting on the bed with him. He cracked his eyes open a little. “You’re so not as pretty as the last person who did this,” Desmond told Altair gravely, who chuckled.

“My apologies,” he said.

“Well… I’m not dead,” and he yawned.

“Or Awake,” Altair actually pronounced the capital on that one.

“That’s… good, I guess,” Desmond said awkwardly.

“Mmm,” Altair agreed and ruffled his hair. “You scared us.”

“What happened?”

“We’re still not sure.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve been laying here a while,” he added because he was kinda sore.

“You have been. About twenty-four hours. Hawk kept you sedated till we were sure you were going to be okay and all that stuff was out of your system,” Altair said calmly.

“… You didn’t beat him up did you?”

“No.”

“Oh good, because I’m going to,” and Altair chuckled again. “Honestly first Jake now me… what’s with the face?” he asked.

“I think, you need to explain this before you introduce your fist to Hawk,” and Altair pulled his hand away from Desmond’s hair and reached for his wrist. “Hawk’s about to kill himself outside he’s been so excited for you to wake up.”

“Oh,” Desmond said, staring at his right arm and then staring up at Altair, sort of guilty, sort of confused. It was like when he woke up from the Animus after his coma, like someone had cut geometric grooves into his arm like Pieces of Eden, and then shoved it full of sulfur and lit it on fire so it nearly glowed blue. “Uh-

“Care you explain?” Altair asked like a father who’d just caught his underage child doing something illegal.

“Love to,” Desmond said slowly and pulled his hand from Altair’s grip. He pushed himself up so he was sitting. “But I can’t,” he said and stretched his arm out in front of him, examining it. The last time it had been from the Animus, and it had faded shortly after, it had barely lasted an hour. Shaun and Becca had jokingly called him a glow stick, they’d sobered up instantly when he’d asked ‘where’s Lucy?’ He hadn’t thought about it past that point either. Especially since it’d gone away.

“Of course not,” Altair sighed and pulled on his mouth. Altair looked at him, “This has happened before though. You’re not even fazed.”

“Even if it hadn’t I’ve been through so much weird shit I’m not surprised by anything anymore,” Desmond said.

“When?”

“When I got out of the Animus, after my coma. Lasted about an hour.”

“Hmm.”

“You… don’t seem surprised by this either.”

“I didn’t tell Hawk this, because I knew he’d want to do half a dozen _other_ things to you then he already has-

“Already?”

“We let him run some tests. Kept him busy. And, as much as he loves you he wanted to cut your arm open and see what was going on.”

“Oh,” Desmond made a face, “thanks then.”

Altair just nodded, “It does this when you were interfacing with the Apple,” he said.

“… What? And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“I thought you knew,” Altair said sternly, “I was waiting for _you_ to tell _us_.”

“No, I don’t know. How long has it been like this?”

“After Hawk extracted the entire device. I’d say about twenty hours.”

“Longer then it has before then. Last time it lasted an hour.”

“Mmm,” Altair said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Really, what?” Desmond pressed. “You guys aren’t telling me everything.”

Altair looked at him, meeting his eyes, “What do you think we aren’t telling you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. But I _know_ _you_ , you’re hiding something.”

And Altair, in a very Altair manner, deflected, “We’ll talk about it later. C’mon, lets get you something to eat,” and he stood up from Desmond’s bed.

“Are you really going to tell me anything?” Desmond asked.

“If there’s anything to tell,” Altair said and patted his shoulder, “Now up you go, how are you not hungry?”

“I’m not hungry a lot,” Desmond said, because he wasn’t. He knew the others teased him with the whole ‘Desmond eats a lot’ thing, even Shaun had. But that was because he ate a lot, in one sitting. Usually he had two meals a day, breakfast, and dinner, and just skipped lunch entirely. Breakfast was normally just protein and carbs and coffee for training that day, an energy drink for lunch, and then dinner with Jake and Clay where he usually had thirds. Though he couldn’t count the number of times he’d literally gone without eating for a day, or several days in a row, because he couldn’t afford it. Inside the Animus there were times Altair didn’t eat, long stretches of times between cities, driven by purpose. Ezio was the same, his friends usually reminded him to eat, once Rosa had shoved him down and told him unless he wanted to keep his pene he would eat what was in front of him. Not eating was _normal_. Awful. But normal.

“Well you missed about five meals,” Altair said, like he knew exactly what Desmond did and didn’t do. “Time for lunch,” and he patted him on the back in a way that got him to stand up, how the shit did he do that? Altair steered him out of his empty room, not even letting him put on shoes, or fuck, even get dressed properly as someone had relieved him of his jeans for just his boxers. Altair didn’t seem at all concerned though and set him at the dining table.

It was early afternoon if the clock was right and who knew what the others were doing since Altair was with him. No training for Jake obviously. He drummed his fingers on the table, he turned his head at the sound of feet coming towards him. “You’re awake,” Hawk said when he came into view.

“Yeah-

“Don’t touch him Hawk I swear to god,” Altair called from the kitchen suddenly.

“I haven’t even done anything!” Hawk whined back, pouting towards the kitchen.

“Keep it that way!”

Hawk slid into the seat next to him, looking very excited. “You feel all right?” he asked, clearly containing himself.

“Yeah, I feel fine.”

“Good. Good. I was worried it’d messed with your spinal column-

“Oh joy,” Desmond said dryly, Hawk said nothing and after about five seconds Desmond sighed and held out his left arm, flat on the table, towards Hawk. 

Hawk beamed at him and reached out to touch his arm, right as Altair came in from the kitchen. “What the fuck did I just say?” Altair growled at Hawk.

“He said I could!” Hawk cried.

“Later, let him eat before you go poking at him.”

“But he’s so soft and squishy how can I resist?” Hawk said pitifully and Desmond laughed when Altair set a sandwich down in front of him. He still wasn’t hungry, but he ate anyway.

“Any idea what’s up with this?” Desmond asked, making a motion with his right hand.

“No,” Hawk said.

“What about the whole pain thing?”

Hawk and Altair traded looks as Desmond bit into his sandwich. “Still trying to figure that out,” Hawk admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I’m doing some tests on your blood, and a sample of some spinal fluid-

“Don’t I have to be awake for lumbar punctures?” Desmond asked, mouth sort of full.

“… You were. Don’t you remember?” Hawk asked.

“Last thing I remember was Altair knocking me out,” he said and ate the other half of his sandwich.

“Huh.”

“I had another dream though,” Desmond said.

“Oh?” Altair seemed interested.

“Venus says your an idiot by the way,” he told Hawk, Altair laughed, but Hawk just scowled.

“What else?” Altair asked.

“That was literally it,” Desmond confessed.

“I’m not an idiot,” Hawk said, pouting.

“Nothing else?” Altair asked, Desmond shook his head. “Just Venus calling Hawk an idiot then… I’ll have to remind him of that again,” Altair practically leered at Hawk who just stuck his tongue out at him.

“So, what are we doing now?” Desmond asked.

“Well, you’re not getting a bug,” Hawk said with a frown. “No need to repeat what happened-

“What _did_ happen exactly?” cause he wasn’t quite sure.

“Like I said, it taps into the optical centers of your brain, and apparently some of your nerves as well, the others showed a similar electrical array as you when I scanned them across the back of the head.”

“Okay, how.”

“When turned on it runs on thermal energy from your body and sends out wires,” at Desmond’s face Hawk added quickly, “they’re only a few atoms thick, so you can’t feel them. But then hooking up to the proper centers of your brain to work properly is what gives the blip of pain in the beginning since literally they’re hijacking some of your nerves.”

“…Okay.”

“You following me?”

“I think so,” Desmond said slowly.

“Okay good. I have _no_ idea why your bug did what it did and without big, expensive, equipment, I have no way to find out what happened or why.”

“Why did it hurt even when it was off?” Desmond asked.

Hawk didn’t answer right away, “Turning the power off disengages the wires, they sort of just dissolve into your blood as minerals your body can use. _That didn’t happen._ So I was effectively pulling on your nerves in a bad way.”

“Oh wonderful,” he said sarcastically.

“But, you’re not dead, nothing got too fucked up actually. They might have moved a few nanometers, enough to hurt, but not actually do anything.”

Desmond looked at Hawk, then down at his right arm on the table, then back at his ancestor, “No I think it did do something,” he waved his arm a little.

Hawk frowned. “There should be no reason for that though. I honestly don’t think the two are related.”

“I don’t either,” Altair said, “Especially when it happens if you interface with an Apple-

“Wait… What? It does?” Hawk demanded, “You didn’t _tell me this because?_ ” he stared at Altair.

“Because you were excited enough. No need to keep you awake all night,” Altair said blandly. “That’s _my_ job,” he added with just enough humor. Hawk continued to scowl at him.

“It does?” he added to Desmond.

Desmond just shrugged, “I guess. I wouldn’t know, I can’t really see my body when I do it,” he frowned.

Hawk nodded slowly. Then, after several seconds he said, “Stop being so weird Little Bird, you make my head hurt.”

“Sorry. I’ll try to be more normal, I _promise_ ,” and Hawk chuckled at that, especially with Desmond’s serious face.

“So in short, none of us know what happened, why it happened, with the bug, or with that,” he pointed at Desmond’s right arm.

“So nothing unusual then.”

“No,” Hawk said in slow, but off, agreement.

“Hawk’s heard some things though,” Altair said. “You asked us what we were doing next.”

“Yeah,” Desmond nodded.

“Well, word with the Orders is pretty quiet. They’re both trying to figure out what the other is doing and thus most of them have just fallen to radio silence,” Hawk said. “But, they’re both fucking stupid and don’t understand how the internet works apparently,” and he grinned widely. “The Assassins communicate through email. They trickle down the chain of command at a fair rate from the Mentor, who has a complex algorithm that scrambles his emails.”

“And just how long did that take you to crack?” Desmond asked, grinning slightly at the immortal, propping his chin up on his palm.

“It was laughably simplistic when you have tech like I do,” Hawk said proudly. “The thing is though that the Assassins are as bad as Templars. They forget a basic teaching, always question,” Desmond nodded slowly, Duncan had always told him that. Question everything. _Everything_ and everyone. Desmond lacked the inherent curiosity his brother had possessed though, he never seemed to ask the right questions. “So all it took was me sending a few emails from the Mentor’s email and I figured out what’s going on.”

“Which is?”

“Well, after we left New York _they_ didn’t leave New York,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Something about what you saw in the Animus. They’re super hush hush about it on both sides-

“I know what it is,” Desmond said, like Hawk was somehow an idiot.

“You do? Oh good because they’re being amazingly deflective when I ask. I think they’re catching on that I’m not the Mentor.”

“You aren’t,” Altair said boredly.

“Excuse me for literally being the only one of us who wasn’t,” Hawk said with heavy sarcasm. “Whatever, what are they looking for?” he asked Desmond.

“A Temple.”

“… There’s a Temple in New York?” Hawk asked.

“I think so… yeah,” then he was nodding, “Jupiter told me. It was just before I woke up from the Animus.”

Both his ancestors sighed and Altair rubbed his head, “ _This_ is why you need to tell us things Desmond,” he groaned.

“I have literally been non stop since Italy okay? I have barely had a chance to breathe with everything going on and it just slipped my mind,” Desmond said defensively.

“What _else_ aren’t you telling us?” Altair asked.

Desmond thought, “Nothing,” he said.

“No. Really. What else?”

“Nothing okay? Just… a lot of stuff happened back then but it was months ago and I try _really hard_ not to think about it because when I do it starts to all just fall apart. Cut me some fucking slack I was only having a psychological melt down for about three months,” he half glared at Altair.

“It’s important.”

“So was trying not to loose my mind, which was a lot more important then that at the time.”

“You should have-

“Stop,” Hawk interrupted. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said sternly to the both of them. “How do the Assassins know?”

“It was in the Animus. They knew everything I did in it. The only thing they weren’t really aware of was the Eagle Vision. Abstergo talked about it some, but it wasn’t like they saw what I saw. It was something they treated like a construct though, to help me with the Animus. I don’t think they actually knew it was _real_ , something previous Subjects probably said. But, they saw me interact with things, even in the black room I know they saw some stuff, probably not all of it though. Doubtful of that actually. But, if they’re in New York, they saw part of what Jupiter told me.”

“And what did Jupiter tell you?” Hawk asked.

“He told me to see the Grand Temple,” Desmond said.

“And?” Altair prompted.

“He told me about some things about the First Civilization.”

“Like what?”

“That he and some others were trying to stop the end of the world. They failed apparently. Or… no, not that they failed,” he said it slowly, trying to remember. He’d repressed a good portion of this, because of what had happened. From Rome to meeting Altair again he’d repressed a great deal because pain came with those memories, and a burning guilt that made it hard to breathe. “They had a plan, but before they could do it, the First Catastrophe hit them.”

“What was that?” Hawk asked.

“I… don’t know. He didn’t tell me,” Desmond said. “But it wiped out their civilization.” He closed his eyes, thinking, trying to pull apart the things he needed to know verses the things that were starting to make him feel sick.

“Desmond?” Altair asked carefully after a few moments where he didn’t say anything. Desmond breathed in and he realized he hadn’t been, “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said in a quiet tone. “He called me something,” he opened his eyes and looked at his ancestors. “He called me a cipher.” 

He watched their faces move through a variety of subtle expressions before they both settled on blank seriousness. “What else?”

“He showed me the Grand Temple.”

“Which is?”

“In New York.”

“What _is_ the Grand Temple?” Hawk pressed.

“He said there was another catastrophe coming. The Second Catastrophe, or something,” he waved his right hand a little like he was dispelling smoke. “The Grand Temple is a way to fix it I guess.”

Hawk grinned and then looked at Altair, “And you were worried you were wrong,” he told the ancient.

“There’s always a possibility,” Altair said, Desmond didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know, he had a feeling he knew what was going on. The future wasn’t constant, anything could change it. Altair had been worried _he_ wasn’t the one he’d seen all that time ago.

“So. We’re going to New York?” Desmond asked.

“There are Templars there too,” Hawk said. “They have moles, the moles have figured out some of what the Assassins are doing.”

“Okay…”

“They’re still after you. They’ve already burned through a Subject Eighteen,” Desmond frowned deeply. “Apparently she wasn’t as helpful to them as you were. They know you’re out here somewhere. They’ll come.”

“Let them come,” Desmond said darkly.

“And the Assassins,” Hawk drawled. “They want you too,” he drummed his fingers on the table. “You’re a liability to them now. You know things people don’t, and shouldn’t. Not to mention _they_ want to put you in the Animus too.”

“Man, everyone has a hard on for the Animus don’t they,” Desmond said sarcastically

Hawk smirked, “They don’t know exactly _where_ this Grand Temple is, if that’s indeed what they’re looking for. They know you know where it is. And if the Assassins know that, then no doubt the Templars do too.”

“Okay,” Desmond said slowly.

Hawk glanced at Altair then back at Desmond before saying, “Apparently the Mentor is also going to New York, to oversee things,” he bit his lips. “We understand if you don’t want to go because of that.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I lived through two of you,” Desmond said, confused.

Hawk looked at Altair, “He doesn’t know?”

“Apparently not,” Altair said in a heavy tone.

“Know what?” Desmond asked, looking between them.

“Desmond,” his eyes stayed on Altair, “The Mentor is your father."


	49. Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though the names are different, because of when this story was started, Andrew IS William Miles. They look exactly the same and I feel the same way about them. William just had the unfortunate problem of being given a purpose in chapter three before we knew he was actually Desmond’s dad =u=

It was easy to get lost in the ceaseless throb of the airplane engine. Desmond stared out the window, the ocean of clouds beneath them seemed endless. Just… endless, in all directions no matter where you looked just a blanket of rising spires of condensed air below them, too high to be effected by most of them. It was just after day break, the rising behind them as they took the long way back to America, Jake was asleep in the first class seat next to them. Desmond had decided to sit by Jake on the long leg of the flight because Jake didn’t know about Desmond’s father, he wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t ask questions, make sure he was all right. He knew they were worried, he hadn’t spoken much after he woke up from his last dream with Venus, three days ago now. 

Right? Three days? It _felt_ like three days at least, time always seemed to move both too fast and too slow on a plane.

Jake didn’t ask, and when it was clear Desmond wasn’t going to talk either he found other ways to entertain himself, like the inflight movie, or making faces at Altair from across the aisle. Until finally he’d gone to sleep. Hawk had been comatose nearly as soon as he was on the plane and had woken only a few times to go to the bathroom, or to eat. Ezio had just kept his eye on him from the seat behind him, though didn’t try to talk, instead pretending to be engrossed in the inflight movies. He’d fallen asleep shortly after Jake. Altair didn’t sleep, but he dozed, very clearly too concerned about him to sleep properly, though he’d happily traded insults with Jake for a while.

Desmond hadn’t slept. He hadn’t slept since he woke up three days ago. He couldn’t sleep. Now he was just staring out the window trying to make his mind as blank as possible.

‘ _The Mentor is your father_ ,’ the thought came unbidden and his jaw tightened.

Desmond hadn’t thought of Andrew Miles in ten years. _Ten. Years._ He was a warden, a jailer, he was hard, he was never happy with anything his sons ever did, he was home wrecker, and he was a cheat. He’d been sleeping with other women not his mother before Desmond was even born and he hadn’t changed when he got older, not even when Duncan had killed himself. Andrew was driven and had purpose and had a plan. His plans always included his sons going on to be great Assassins, carrying on his name, helping elevate him to the position he wanted.

His father was a snake in the grass.

It looked like he’d gotten what he’d wanted. In ten years his father had gone from the head of the Farm to… Mentor. It left a sour taste in Desmond’s mouth thinking it. The fact that his father had gotten _what he’d wanted_ after all these years. And worse that he was probably the reason Desmond was in most of this mess. William, who had been in correspondence with Lucy back in Italy, and then later when he’d met him, was no doubt one of his father’s lap dogs. It was why he didn’t trust William beyond a brief moment, because he just _felt_ like Andrew. He didn’t doubt his dad had sent William in his stead, because he couldn’t take the time to come see Desmond that day, to get the Apple, to see the man who was going insane for them, who’s life was slowly trickling away while he lay in the Animus chair. Sounded just like his father actually, Andrew didn’t take time for anyone. He _especially_ didn’t take time for his children, they were means to an end for him, always had been, good to know Desmond was still nothing more then a tool to him.

He pressed the heel of his hand to one eye. He was exhausted and stressed out as it was. Everything just _moved_ , and moved quickly and even though he’d had time to sort out some of it he was still on rocky footing just from being kidnapped by Abstergo in the first place. He’d never just had time to just _stop_ , there was always something. Running, or training, or fighting, or grieving, or dealing with all the _stupid_ and _fucked up_ shit in his life that just came at him one after another after another after another. And now this.

This _wasn’t helping_.

He just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

He was glad no one on the plane was a mind reader, his ancestors would have snapped at him for thinking that. He had a purpose, he had a _destiny_. He didn’t want it, he’d never wanted it. But they all were just puppets for fate, and fate was a bitch on her period and didn’t care what you wanted.

It seemed fate was driving forward for this confrontation though. Because Desmond knew that if his father was there he couldn’t just pretend he wasn’t. Ten years ago he’d been a kid, too scared to speak up to his old man, too intimidated to tell him to fuck off, too meek to demand answers about anything, _real_ answers. He had a lot to say to Andrew now. He was ten years older and butted heads with guys thrice as scary, and intimidating, and intense as his father, not even counting his ancestors. He had some choice words to say to his father, and he knew the others wouldn’t like it. They were used to being secret, quiet, only showing themselves when they had to.

Desmond grinned to himself morbidly. Subject Four had killed the Mentor before Andrew, whoever he was, a figure that literally had been a myth to Desmond growing up that he sometimes heard the adults talk about like it was the voice of god. Altair had killed the one before that.

Maybe Desmond would kill this one.

The thought didn’t even phase him. He contemplated that, that he didn’t even flinch when he thought about killing his father. Even Altair had flinched away from killing Al Mualim, he hadn’t wanted to, he’d done so out of need, and then he’d grieved for months after, silently, showing no one the stain him of being a father killer. Desmond didn’t feel the familiar flinch though. But he also didn’t feel any blood lust, no drive to commit. He was very familiar with the feeling of both and they just weren’t there.

He hadn’t thought of his father in ten years. Before there had been fear, and anger. Now he just sort of felt numb. A numb that made his hand curl into a fist he didn’t realize he was doing until he looked at it. He forced the fingers to unfurl and rest on the arm rest properly as he stared out the window.

Across the aisle he heard Altair wake up again. He’d been in and out of half sleep all night and he looked over at his ancestor where he stretched, unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. The first class cabin was empty except for them and Desmond tracked him when he went to the lavatory before looking out the window again, his fingers tapped anxiously on the seat rest.

He wore gloves, because it hadn’t gone away. The glowing thing. It wasn’t all over his arm at least, just in sports, connecting and disconnecting from one another like some sort of circuit was trying to push through to be seen on his skin, but wasn’t there yet. It didn’t _stay_ either, but would fade in and out of sight so even if it wasn’t on his hands at some point didn’t mean it wouldn’t be in the next hour. It had been his idea, but he’d forgotten how cumbersome gloves were, even skin tight leather ones like he was wearing.

He started when the chair in front of him creaked. Altair was leaning over the top of the chair, looking at him. “You sleep?” he asked.

“No.”

Altair frowned, “You should try to get some.”

“What are you, my father?” he growled.

Altair stared at him for several seconds, “Better one then Andrew,” Altair said calmly, not at all baited.

He rubbed his face with both hands. “I can’t sleep,” he said quietly, staring at the back of the chair, unable to look at his ancestor, who was just trying to help.

“You need to.”

He looked at Altair then, “Why don’t you sleep all the time?” he asked unhappily.

“Nine hundred years of mistakes,” was Altair’s answer. “Enough to keep anyone up at night.”

“Or days,” Desmond said.

Altair smirked, “Or that,” he agreed.

“What if I can’t do this?”

“Do what?”

“What you think I’m supposed to do? Stop the Assassins and Templars from fighting? Or like the Ancients say, save the world. What if… I can’t,” he bowed his head and grabbed the back of his neck. “That shit’ll keep you up at night,” he said almost too soft to be heard over the drone of the plane’s engine.

“You won’t do it alone,” Altair told him. “We’ll always be here. Literally,” and Desmond gave a sort of pained laugh. “Hey,” he ruffled Desmond’s hair playfully, “You’ll be fine.”

Desmond looked up at him, “And if I’m not?”

“Then we’ll fix you,” he jumped when Ezio spoke behind him, mimicking Altair’s position, only on Desmond’s chair. “Just like the first time.”

“Or, _I’ll_ fix you,” Altair said, amused. “Since you can’t do anything,” he added to Ezio.

“Screw you,” was all Ezio said.

“When we get to the Temple,” Altair ignored Ezio, “You can ask your Ancient friends why this is happening,” he picked up Desmond’s right hand. “I’m sure they have answers you want.”

“And if they aren’t good enough?”

“That’s life, sadly,” Altair said and gave Desmond his hand back. “Now try to get some sleep, the flight attendant said we’re landing in six hours, and you’re running on fumes.”

“I’ll try,” Desmond said.

“Good enough,” and he motioned to Ezio before getting out of his seat he was in and going around to sit next to Ezio. They immediately started to talk in hushed tones. He wanted to ask what they were talking about, but didn’t.

The sun had risen behind them now, and light was pouring in through Desmond’s window. Next to him Jake grumbled and turned in his reclined chair, waking for a moment. “Close the fucking window Des,” and squinted at him a moment. Desmond shut it with a clack and he closed his eyes again. Desmond tried to do the same, but he never could sleep in planes. He leaned back in his chair and focused on the sound of the engines and Altair and Ezio talking behind him, too quiet to understand.

He didn’t sleep.


	50. It Flies Overhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riiiiiiiiiiiisiiiinnng aaaactiiioooooon

The last time they’d been in New York it had been March and spring had still been something that happened. It had been a mild winter though and there had been no snow and the spring had been wild as well. Now it was May, summer, and New York was green. It had been two months since they’d been here.

Two months.

Hard to imagine it had only been two months, it felt like two life times instead. Desmond had had worse time vertigo though when he lived through five years of Ezio’s life and then woke up and only about nine hours had passed. That had been hard to wrap his mind around. So much time had passed for him, yet only a few hours had really done so.

Desmond had his hands in his pockets as they were at a gas station, filling up their bikes. Black, matte, the chrome wrapped or sprayed, and quiet electric things that could yowl like a jungle cat when you gunned the engine. He was watching the meter. The gas was almost four dollars a gallon, Hawk didn’t seem concerned however. He had that black card of his, Desmond didn’t know what it was connected to, he didn’t want to know.

Altair and Ezio were in the little connivence store, looking like they were arguing over Little Debbie Cakes, and Hawk was filling up his own bike. They’d ridden in from D.C. and were in the middle of New York. The place of action was closer to Canada though, and bordered against Vermont, supposedly at least, that was where the Assassins were gathered, and since they were there the Templars had followed. They were all sort of dancing around each other, the Templars had numbers, they always had numbers, but one Assassin was worth ten Templars. That was what Hawk had told them anyway, none of them actually knew, they’d see it for themselves when they got there in a few hours.

“No, I don’t care. You’ll get fat,” Jake said to the air, though one of his irises was fogged over. “Yes _fat_ …” and then he spewed out some venomous Arabic. He wondered what Altair had said. It was weird, seeing them interact for real. Altair didn’t usually talk to him directly, and they were _never_ close enough to touch. But apparently they used the little bug Hawk had given them. It was sort of funny.

He sagged on his bike. He hadn’t slept in four days. “Little Bird!” he started from half awake, “Your tank’s full,” Hawk commented.

“Right,” he said and pulled the nozzle from the top of his tank and put it back on the holster. The machine dinged as he screwed the cap back on and Hawk came over and paid with his black card. “So,” he asked as Hawk did his thing. “What’s that to?”

“A bank account,” Hawk said slowly, giving him a look.

“Who’s?”

Hawk blinked at him, “Mine of course.”

“You told me it was to a hacked account.”

“Yeah. I hacked my own account.”

“… Why?”

“Because I could and to see how good the bank’s security was. While I was in there I added about six more security measures,” Hawk said as the machine spit out his receipt.

“How do you have a Centurion Card?” Desmond was still confused about that one.

“I’m two hundred years old. How do I _not_ have a Centurion card,” Hawk said. “I’m not just a pretty face you know-

“That’s debatable even on a good day,” Jake said.

“Shut it Crow!” Hawk snapped at Jake who just grinned cheekily as he pushed his bike up to the station now that Hawk was done with it. “I have a lot of patents, and I let people use them for exorbitant amounts of money. I own stock, I own property, I own businesses, it’s a full scale operation Little Bird.”

“Do I even want to know about Altair and Ezio?”

“More money then God,” Hawk flapped his hand at them. “Altair stopped caring about it before the American Revolution, apparently he’s got like… a ton of gold bars hidden somewhere. And I literally do mean _a ton_.”

“Wow.”

“Ezio has his invested in precious stones and jewels. He makes the crown jewels of any kingdom look like toys.”

“And you?”

“Turned most of it electric.”

“Aren’t you worried about it getting traced?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Hawk shrugged. “These last few decades it’s under the name of a man named Mitchell Simmons, who’s a wildlife photographer.”

“… That’s amazing,” Desmond said.

“I know right?” Hawk grinned at him as Altair and Ezio came out of the store each with at least two bottles of water, and still arguing over a box of Little Debbie Cakes.

“I can’t believe you really got them!” Jake called.

“They’re delicious I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ezio said, breaking open the box. “Catch,” he called and tossed one to Desmond. His hands reached up automatically and he tore open the cellophane, eating the dumb little square of over manufactured sugar.

“That’s so gross,” Jake said, wrinkling his nose at him.

“I have really had worse okay?” Desmond asked.

“Here here!” Ezio cried.

“Am I the only civilized human being here who’s never eaten crap in their entire life?” he huffed.

Altair turned a look at him, “We both know _that_ isn’t true.”

“ _I_ never ate that,” Jake said hotly and Desmond wondered what sort of dumb thing Altair had just brought up for the other half of Jake to remember. “And it was your fault anyway!” he added.

Altair chuckled, “You’re the one who lost the bet,” and he opened the little bag and ate his own Little Debbie. Jake just looked properly insulted. They ate the entire box without much trouble and threw it away. The water tasted good in the heat and after all that sugar. It helped wake him up too, to have sugar and fluids now properly in his system. Once they’d eaten their sweets and chugged their water they pulled on their helmets. Time to get going, they were starting to burn daylight.

—

The little motel they checked into at the top of the state was just that, a little motel in a tiny town so small it was barely on the map. But there was a diner half a mile away with, apparently, the best cherry pie in three counties. They’d gone there for dinner and Desmond had nearly caused a pile up.

He wasn’t… used to being around normal people anymore. As it was he was wary and distrustful of most strangers and this sort of isolation with only about five other people at most around wasn’t helping. When he entered new buildings he’d started to just do a spot check, his eyes going briefly into Eagle Vision, to pick out any potential threats quickly. But when he’d gone into the restaurant and done so there had just been _a sea_ of red sitting at the tables. It had caused Ezio to bump into him and Jake to bump into Ezio and Altair and Hawk to look at him questioningly. He’d just waved it off.

The others hadn’t seemed concerned in the slightest, though he saw them all (except Jake, because Jake couldn’t do it) flash through Eagle Vision quickly to see what had freaked Desmond out. They’d acted like it was normal. So Desmond didn’t bring it up. It had still freaked him out a little though.

They’d rented two rooms, he, Jake and Ezio in one, Altair and Hawk in the one right next to it, the connecting door open. That was when he’d brought it up to Ezio, who was zoning out watching some reality TV show. Hawk and Altair were in their room and he could hear one of them moving around restlessly (probably Altair), Jake was taking a shower.

“Ezio,” he said, sitting next to him on the bed.

He blinked and turned to Desmond, pulling his focus from the show. “Yeah?” he asked.

He hesitated for a second, “At the restaurant—

“What about it?” he asked when Desmond sort of faltered, he didn’t _quite_ know what to ask.

“They were all red.”

“Yep,” he didn’t seem surprised by this.

“I mean _all_ of them.”

“They were.”

“Yeah but-

“Desmond,” he said and Desmond closed his mouth, Ezio sat up straight. “All those people in that diner, they were either Assassins, or, they were Templars.”

“All of them?”

“I think only the workers weren’t. But yeah, they all were.”

“There were little kids there Ezio.”

“Assassins have children, so do Templars. They don’t know at first glance who’s who, and children throw off that scent. _Families_ are how we distract our enemies from what we are, because we aren’t supposed to have them.”

“So those kids… they were just-

“Decoys. I doubt they know why they’re here, or if those were even their parents,” and Desmond felt the blood rush out of his face.

“That’s disgusting,” Desmond said.

“Yeah,” Ezio agreed. “The Orders now a days are hard to tell apart, the line between them is thin, and they toe it all the time.”

“Please tell me there is _some_ difference,” Desmond said worriedly.

“The Templars seek to control, the Assassins seek to give control. Make sense?”

“Give control to the people?”

“Yes,” Ezio nodded.

“Then yes.”

“Good. That doesn’t make either of them better then the other though, as you saw tonight. They’re both dirty, even the Assassins, who claim to serve the light, haven’t been clean in a long, long time,” he sighed. “Such a shame, what it’s become.”

“How do you fix it?” Desmond asked.

“I’m not sure,” he grinned then, “that’s what you’re here for a guess.”

“No pressure,” Desmond muttered.

“There is literally _nothing_ better then a shower after a hot day,” Jake suddenly announced as he walked out of the bathroom. Ezio twisted his head around and looked at him, probably with a raised eyebrow. “What?” Jake asked and Desmond chuckled.

—

It was late. Really late. Desmond looked over at the clock, it was three in the morning. He still wasn’t sleeping.

He sat up in bed. Jake was sleeping next to him, facing Ezio in the other bed. This wasn’t working. He got up and dressed in the dark, his night vision had gotten better in the last few months, though had suddenly jumped leaps and bounds in a few days. He couldn’t see _fully_ like he could in the light, but his vision was good in the dark now. He had a feeling it was related to his arm, if not exactly directly. He pulled on his white hoodie before he left, it was still cool out, and slid his Apple into the pocket. He passed on the leather jacket.

He checked on Altair and Hawk. Altair was sitting in the chair in the room, eyes half lidded, dozing. Hawk was asleep. Good. Casting a look at Jake and Ezio on still in bed, Jake now having turned into the warm spot Desmond had left, he quietly opened the front door door and slipped outside, closing the door as quietly as he possibly could. No one stopped him, and no one was outside.

The early summer air in New York was still cool at night and Desmond breathed in deeply. It was a far cry from what he’d just left, heat and humidity and winter slowly creeping in on the southern hemisphere. He pushed his hand into his pocket and fingered the keys of his bike and looked at the five bikes lined up across three spaces like patient black birds sitting on wires. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked back at the two doors. Everyone was sleeping still.

Desmond went over to his bike and put up the kickstand and backed it out of the parking space. He walked it out to the street about a hundred feet away before climbing onto it and putting the keys into the ignition. The bike started with a soft purr and he looked at the motel, just in case. Sonuvabitch. The door to Altair and Hawk’s room was opening.

Altair’s head swept from the bikes up to the road and looked at him, face confused and curious. Desmond put his left hand in his pocket as his right one reached out for the throttle. His fingers curled around the Apple and he heard it’s soft song, notes all jumbled and thrown together, and he knew he’d vanished from sight by Altair’s sudden frown. He looked away from Altair as his hand pulled down on the throttle and he started to move, his feet moving up to the foot rests. As he shifted into second gear at the end of the street he put both hands on the handle bars, the Apple shimmered in his pocket, maintaining his illusion.


	51. Pecking Order

It looked like an archeological dig when Desmond pulled up to the chain link fence. From where he was he could see a large rocky outcrop, his night vision sharp and he could make out the shapes of excavation equipment. He didn’t know where the Templars had set up, but he’d seen similar outposts along the road. Apparently they were just digging at random, hoping to strike gold, or oil. So far neither of them had found anything.

This was the biggest compound he’d found though so far. Meaning something big was happening here. The Canadian border was about fifty miles to the north of them and they were deep in the middle of fucking no where. Like the other compounds this one had guards, and sentries patrolling the perimeter, but Desmond was under the illusion of invisibility. He remembered, through Ezio, how much effort it had taken to do what he could do with the Apple. For Desmond it was like breathing, he wasn’t even _touching it_ , and even Altair, for all his power, had to touch a Piece of Eden, if not constantly then every second or so.

He got off his bike about a hundred feet from the fence and climbed the nearest tree, moving with the wind that came off the outcrop in gusts. After so long trying to stay silent from his ancestors it was almost painfully easy to sneak over the fence. A sentry passed under him as he worked through the trees and he froze, barely breathing. But they gave no notice of any awkward sway of the branch that might have been from Desmond’s added weight and he waited for the next gust before jumping to the next tree.

Desmond hit the ground on all fours when he made it past the fence. Here a good portion of the trees had been clear cut to make room for big machines that smashed, drilled, and flattened. Still invisible he walked towards the area where people lived. They weren’t tents, not _really_ , more like collapsable houses that were half cylinders sitting on top of the earth, with ribs holding them up. They even had doors. They’d been here a while and Desmond had a feeling this was the real compound and the others he’d seen were just to throw off the Templars. The others he’d seen on the way here weren’t nearly as well manned or well organized.

He’d ridden around in the dead of night, all night, looking for this place, and now the sun was rising in the east, over the outcrop. People were starting to wake up now. He sat in one of the chairs at an outdoor eating area, dropping his invisibility as he drummed his fingers on the table top. People came out from their half cylinders, looking tired, frumpy, and headed for what was obviously the mess hall. Soon he could smell coffee being brewed and breakfast foods being prepared by the cooks for their brothers.

He was waiting for someone to notice him, and he knew it’d just be a matter of time. He bet they all expected him to be as far away from the Orders as humanly possible. They wouldn’t expect him just _showing up_ in their secret compound in the middle of the fucking woods.

The sun rose over the side of the ridge and more people started to move around. It was cool in the mornings and most of them wore sweat shirts, or hoodies, a few were in flannels, he didn’t stand out in his white hoodie. Then they were serving breakfast and the tables around Desmond started to fill with people, a few asked if they could sit with him and he just smiled and said ‘no problem’, and they sat and ate breakfast. Desmond didn’t get any breakfast. He wasn’t hungry, and he was wide awake, as though the past four days hadn’t happened, as if he hadn’t missed almost a hundred hours of sleep. He was running on adrenaline.

Breakfast ended, people left, the ones sitting at his table gave him funny looks as they left. He didn’t get up. Less then an hour passed after breakfast, everyone was off doing their jobs, Desmond was still sitting there. Waiting. Eventually someone did come and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t you have something you _should_ be doing brother?” Desmond turned to look at the man. Early thirties, red hair, goatee, had freckles all over his face; not who he was looking for. But, they recognized him, because they suddenly recoiled, hand jerking off his shoulder. “You,” he said, accusingly.

“Me,” Desmond said in simple agreement, not moving, every nerve in his body firing. Everything seemed hyper real all the sudden, like he was looking at the world through an IMAX lens.

The man pulled out a walki talki, “This is Sully, we have an intruder at the pavilion,” he said into it and it cracked when he released the button. He frowned deeply at Desmond, who just smiled cheekily at him like Ezio used to do when he knew he was in deep shit but was just going to escape anyway and piss everyone off. “You’re in trouble.”

“Wow,” Desmond said slowly. “They let you think of that line all by yourself? Must be letting you off your leash,” he said sarcastically, meanly, as more people arrived.

“You, how did you get here?” someone, a smart one apparently, asked. Desmond looked at her; late twenties, black hair, heart shaped face: so not who he was looking for.

“I jumped over the fence,” Desmond said. Which was almost impossible as the fence was fifteen feet tall and lined with several rows of barbed wire. Not impossible, but not easy to do.

“This is who we’ve been looking for,” Sully suddenly said, “That’s Desmond Miles,” and everyone was suddenly much more alert.

Desmond just grinned at them, “Hi,” he waved. “I want to see my father, you know where he is?”

—

They’d locked him in one of the rooms of the weird half cylinder not-tents. There was a metal table, and two, uncomfortable, metal chairs, no windows. Desmond was slumped in one of the chairs playing with his fingers. The Assassins had stripped him of everything. Every weapon he had, including his hidden blade, even the tiny punch knife he kept in his back pocket, and his Apple. He wasn’t worried about that though. They couldn’t use the Apple, it only responded to some people and when Desmond was the one using it for so long it had started to tune in to only him. Or so Altair said since apparently it was more difficult for him and Hawk to use then others. If Altair had trouble with it it’d be impossible for others to do so.

He’d been here about an hour. His ass had hurt in that stupid metal chair and he’d walked around a little before just sitting on the table, feet on the seat of the chair, facing the door, which had a small window in it. He was waiting and kept fiddling with his gloves because it gave him something to do and he was bored.

Then, the door opened.

He blinked and almost laughed. “You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

“Hello Desmond,” Shaun said in his now foreign accent. Damn. Once it had been so familiar. But he’d only own Shaun about two months, if that. Now he was a stranger, just like he had been when Desmond had first met him. He had a notepad with him and his hair was still styled in that perfect ‘I’m a massive douche bag’ hair style that didn’t make him look _nearly_ as much a douche bag as it would on other people.

“Hey,” he said, entire face sharp.

Shaun swallowed, “Why don’t you sit down, ey mate?” he asked.

“I am.”

“In a chair Desmond. God you drop off the face of the Earth for a few months and come back a bloody heathen,” he sighed, now in full ‘Desmond’s an idiot, I am not intimidated by morons’ mode. Desmond just grinned at him and slid off the table and went around to sit in the chair facing the door. Shaun sat opposite him. “You… look good,” Shaun said after a few moments of silence.

“Not slowly dying does that to people,” Desmond said.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Shaun said, awkwardly. He looked at his stupid notepad, to stall, and then looked at Desmond again. “What are you doing here Desmond?”

“I came to see my father,” Desmond said, “A little bird told me he was here,” and Hawk had.

“Your father’s been missing since Templars attacked your Farm, months ago,” Shaun said. “Even before that we don’t have a lot of records on him, he’d been MIA for a while.”

Desmond’s mouth went tight, “Where. Is. He?” he asked, leaning forward on the table. “I know they sent you in here because you’re familiar to me, but I don’t give a shit Shaun. You’re one of _them_.”

“So what does that make you you stupid prat?” Shaun snapped right back. “I’m not even born into this shit. So what does that _make you_?”

Desmond pulled back. He wasn’t here to fight with Shaun. He was here to see his father. “I want to see my father,” he said again.

“And I’m telling you you’re fucking bonkers. No one’s seen or heard from Andrew Miles in like ten years. Just after your dumb ass ran away apparently,” he said hotly. “Now what are you doing here?”

“I’ve told you, twice,” Desmond said with a roll of his eyes.

“So you’re here to see a man who isn’t actually here. Great plan.”

“And what are _you_ doing here?” Desmond asked right back.

“I’m stationed here. You were in my cell, I have access to the Animus data, I know more then most.”

“Which is?”

Shaun sighed, “Not a lot. It sort of all went to shit when you left. Half the data we _do_ have is corrupt. Becca has been working with techs since you ran away, trying to untangle the mess. It’s like someone took a virtual sledgehammer to Rebecca’s entire network.” Desmond knew, somehow, Hawk had done that. He didn’t know how, but the old man had. Protecting him, again. And Covering their tracks. “But we’re not here to talk about me-

“If you finish that line Shaun I really will lose all the respect I had for you,” Shaun frowned.

“Fine,” he said. “Where have you been the past eight months? The last time we caught up to you was in New York City, and then we had intelligence of the Templars tracking you down in Michigan a little over two months. Where the hell have you _been_?” he asked helplessly. Desmond didn’t answer. “You go back to Rome at all?” and Shaun leaned back when he saw everything about Desmond go sharp and lethal. “Okay, guess not,” he said, swallowing.

“You know,” he continued, trying to maintain his cool, “Becca and I got the short end of the stick for that shit you pulled. Running away, without warning. You got three people injured looking for you that day,” Desmond just blinked at him, refusing to feel guilty. “Don’t you care?” he stressed.

“I’ve _killed_ people Shaun. Does it look like I care?” he asked bitterly. “You’re just wasting my time. They’re using you to stall until they figure out what to do with me. Cause no one knows what to do with me. They expected me to _die_ in that chair, strapped into that machine. A worthy death they would say, I gave my life for the Order. I was never supposed to come out on top here.”

“Don’t say that, you were, we all were,” Shaun said, and Desmond wondered how much he believed it.

“I give them till the end of the day to either figure out what to do with me or I’m going.”

“Going?”

“Leaving. Here, and fuck you all on the way out.”

“Desmond, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re pretty stuck here. They have two _Masters_ outside that door.” Desmond only shrugged. “You have no weapons, you’re defenseless-

“I still have my hands,” Desmond said. “Not like I’ve been idle all this time. I met some people, people I trust.”

“Like you trusted _us_?”

Desmond smiled painfully, “I never trusted any of you.”

Shaun’s face went slack, “You stupid American!” he suddenly cried and looked like he was about to hit Desmond with his notebook. “Rebecca and I were worried sick over you when you went into a coma, and she looked _everywhere_ for you when you ran. She didn’t _sleep_ for a week!” He’d actually never seen Shaun angry, it was interesting. “We were _counting on you_. And you let us down.”

“Well tough shit,” Desmond snapped and got to his feet, hands on the metal table, glaring down at Shaun. “I’ve been let down my entire life you stupid british dipwad. Do you have any idea the sort of shit I’ve gone through in my life? No. You don’t. All you and _all of them_ ,” he pointed accusingly to the door, “care about is what _I_ can do for _you_. Well fuck off how about you try and figure out what _you_ can do for _me_ instead? Everyone needs _me_ a whole shit ton more then I need _you_.”

Shaun didn’t talk for a few seconds, he was obviously trying not to fly off the handle like Desmond was. He didn’t care. He was angry. He was so fucking angry. Not at Shaun exactly, but just at the whole thing in general. Being used and abused by these people and expected to take it. “We’re just trying to help,” Shaun said.

Desmond slapped the notebook out of his hands. “Fuck you,” Desmond hissed. “I want to see the Mentor _right. Now,_ ” and he felt a tingling on his right arm, though it was covered.

Shaun stared at him, “How did yo-

“NOW!” he yelled and grabbed the edge of the table and over turned it, sending it crashing into a wall. Just thinking about it, seeing him, made him see red. “I want to see him right now or I swear to fucking god Shaun.”

“Or what?” Shaun asked, though he had a bit of a tremor in his voice. Clearly he was freaked out. Good. Good! They _should_ be scared of him. Scared of what he could do, of how everything was just _so fucking easy_ for him.

“Or I’ll do something you’ll regret,” he growled. “Get. Me. The. Fucking. Mentor,” and he’d never seen someone move so fast in his life as he banged on the door and called through it, the door was open and he barely waited for there to be enough of a gap for him to squeeze through before he was out of the room.

Feeling like he’d just completed an olympic event Desmond slumped into his chair. The table was still upturned, leaning funnily against the thin, curved, metal wall, and he took a deep breath before leaning forward and putting his head between his legs. His hands gripped his knees so hard he felt the bones in his kneecap grind and tried to get a fucking grip. He couldn’t show this to his father. He couldn’t. If he did then Andrew would win and he’d be just like his father. A fucking angry, cheating, abusive, asshole. He wouldn’t be that. He couldn’t. He _refused_ to be like that. He was not his father. He wasn’t.

He wasn't.


	52. Hover

It was getting to be dark. He knew it was because his internal clock told him it was. He was still waiting. They'd given him lunch, a sandwich and a bag of chips, a bottle of water to wash it down. It was still sitting where they'd left it for him just inside the door. He knew better then to eat it. It could be laced with something, poison, or more likely, a sedative.

He knew, without a hesitation, that the others were looking for him. Fuck they'd probably found him already, they were just waiting to see what he'd do. He wondered if they were inside the fence by now. It seemed likely to him, of the four three of them could move like silent shadows even without an Apple. Jake was still loud, out of and not enough practice in moving stealthily, but he was learning again quickly. Just like Desmond learned quickly, pre knowledge to do something before they could actually do it.

The sun had set now. It was surprisingly late, almost eight. He was about to get up from the floor- it was more comfortable then that chair- when the doorknob turned. He stayed very still as it turned and the door opened slowly.

Desmond said nothing. Did nothing. He just looked up at the man who came into the room. "Hello Desmond," Andrew said.

Everything about them was both the same and different. Desmond had his father's face shape, though his was wider, more full, and could pull off facial hair. Desmond couldn't. His hair was black to Desmond's brown and short, gray running through it. Desmond’s hair had grown out in the past six months, but his hair always grew slowly and thus was still an adequate length that didn't drive him insane. Andrew had more fine lines on his face then Desmond remembered, circles deeper under his eyes that sagged, like he didn't sleep much, kept up by ghosts. But Desmond was fit and the color of bronze from the sun, darker them even his natural skin tone he'd inherited from his mother. Andrew was pale and gray, he didn't go out I'm the sun much it seemed and while he had mass there was no muscle behind it. He was not a warrior like Desmond was, he was a pencil pusher.

"Hi dad," he said without any inflection at all.

Andrew's smile was old and thin and lacked any warmth. "Good to see you again."

"That what you tell yourself at night?" he asked, "that it'd be good to see your worthless son again?"

Andrew frowned, it was an expression that even after ten years Desmond would recognize anywhere. It was disappointment, a look common on his face that always drove Desmond nuts. He'd looked this way when he'd found out what Duncan had done. Not even sad just... disappointed. He was also _so_ fucking disappointed in his children. They were never good enough for him. "You aren't worthless," Andrew told him.

"Now I'm not," Desmond said, he was still sitting, arms on his knees. "Now I fit into your fucking 'plan'," he even did air quotes. Andrew said nothing and Desmond sighed, hanging his head between his knees, against his chest. "On the way back to America you know what I thought?"

"What?" Andrew asked, his voice low, he wasn't paying Desmond any attention. Even now, when his son was right in front of him, his mind was elsewhere.

"I thought about committing patricide," he said just loud enough for his father to hear. "You know what that means?" be asked, head still bowed.

"Yes."

"It means I wanted to kill you!" he answered anyway, ending in a yell, looking right at Andrew. "I wanted to fucking kill you for what you've done. It's because of you that I kept having to go into the Animus, even when my mind was fraying at the edges and I was being mentally pulled apart at the seems," he shrugged to his feet. He was taller then his father, good. "You told Lucy to keep me in, push me to do more. It was _killing me_ Did you know that? No, better question, I'm sure you knew that. Did you _care_? Care that your only son was _dying_? Or were you finally just happy I wasn't being a total fuck up like you thought I was growing up?" he wasn't yelling, no, not that. His anger had been leeched of heat and rage after his first outburst. Now he was just icy and so cold that the room could have dropped a few degrees from how cold his voice was.

"I was doing what I thought was best," his father said.

"For who dad? For fucking _who_? Not me obviously," he stepped closer to Andrew, able to look down on him. The last time he'd seen his old man he'd just started his growth spurt, he was a late bloomer. Now he was fully grown and taller then his father by a few inches. It felt amazing to be able to physically be taller than him.

"We all have to make sacrifices Desmond," Andrew said calmly, sounding like nothing. "Some of us more then most."

"And this was supposed to be my sacrifice? My life, for something I never wanted, an organization I was a part of only by birth. That was it?" he asked cooly.

A silence settled. Desmond's now quiet rage and Andrew's stony indifference. Desmond knew he didn't care. He could tell in the fact that he was looking through Desmond, hearing what he was saying, but not reacting to it. Eventually Andrew asked, "What do you want from me Desmond?"

"What do- what do _I_ want? I think that's the first time you've asked me that in my life. I want a lot. I'll settle for an apology. For _ruining my life_ , my _brother's_ life-

"Don't bring the dead into this," Andrew said. "Your brother was a coward and couldn't handle what was asked of him and every child at the Farm. He killed himself because he was weak."

"Is that what you think? Really? That that was why Duncan killed himself? Oh that's rich. Do you want to know why he really killed himself? It was because of _you_. Because you were _never_ happy with anything we did. Ever. Because you were always busy and never had time for _us_. Because you were busy fucking other women while your family held on without you. You didn’t raise him or me, someone a lot more worthy of being our father taught him the things he'd need to know about the world. And he raised _me_ better then you ever could."

"I had the Farm to run. Your mother-

"Couldn't even look at me!" now he yelled. "She hated me and acted like I wasn't even there. Parents of the fucking universe go to Andrew and Kaley Miles," and he clapped sarcastically. There was another long silence and then he asked, because he _had_ to ask. “Is she dead?” his voice was quiet. Lucy had told him about the attack on the Farm, she thought he’d be worried for his parents. He hadn’t been, not really.

“May god rest her soul,” was all Andrew said.

Desmond just smiled bitterly, “Good for her. Got away from you.”

“Don’t say that about your mother.”

“I’m not. I’m saying it about you. Better she doesn’t have to deal with a lying, cheating husband anymore,” Andrew now focused on him. Of course. He wouldn’t when he was talking about _Desmond_ , but mention Kaley and bam, reaction. “One who would put his entire family on the back burner for what he wanted. Well,” he extended his hands to Andrew, “you got it dad. Are you happy now?” he actually asked it seriously as his hands dropped back down to his sides. “Or are you still the angry, abusive asshole I remember when I was a kid?”

“I was never abusive. I never hurt you or your brother.”

“No, but you made others hurt us. Kids. You were making kids hurt each other. Or do you forget how Duncan ended up in the hospital in the first place? Your negligence,” and he laughed meanly. “Always comes back to it doesn’t it? I ran away, Duncan killed himself, fuck I was _born_ , because you can’t look after the things you should.”

“Are you just here to lecture me boy?” Andrew asked, and in this they were the same. He could hear his father’s patience wearing out. He could take the abuse, just like Desmond, but eventually he had enough.

“I’m still waiting for that apology for screwing everything up actually,” he said, staring him down.

“I did nothing wrong.”

“You almost got me killed!” he yelled, then he turned away rubbing the back of his head. “Fuck why did I bother?” he asked himself. “You’re just like you were. Selfish. I thought maybe since you got what you wanted you’d have changed,” he smirked meanly back at the older man, “Looks like that’s a no.” Andrew said nothing. “Nothing to say then _dad_?” he asked sarcastically with a sort of sigh. “No great words of wisdom? Not even asking me to help. Or do I not get a choice again? You’re just expecting me to be a good little soldier and do what you say… like I used to, so you wouldn’t look at me like I was such a _failure_.”

“We do need your help,” Andrew said.

“Wonderful,” Desmond said, “with what?”

“The Temple is here. We can’t find it. You could.”

“And why should I help you?”

“Because if you don’t the Templars could find it first, and then all would be lost.”

“That isn’t a reason. _Why_ should _I_ help _you_?” he asked it slowly so there was no misunderstanding his meaning.

Andrew blinked at him, “Because you’re my blood, my son. I know you don’t want to fail me, not really,” and if that wasn’t a cold hand around his heart nothing was.

“Is that the best you’ve got? Really?”

“It’s the truth. You wouldn’t be here, or have threatened one of your old cell mates to see me if you really didn’t want anything to do with me. I want to be proud of you Desmond. Do something to make me proud,” and all the color drained from Desmond’s face.

“Would you have been proud of me if I’d died? In the Animus?” he asked quietly. He was scared of the answer because Andrew was right. God damnit he was _right_ and it hurt. Desmond still just wanted daddy’s approval, like he had growing up, trying to show he wasn’t Duncan, he wasn’t like anyone else. He was just himself and his parents should love him _because_ of that, not _in spite of_ it.

“You were actually doing good there son.”

“I was dying,” Desmond stressed.

“Our operatives die all the time, for a much less noble cause then helping us permanently end this war.” Desmond just looked at his father hopelessly. “Staying in the Animus would have been a noble death.”

Desmond pressed his hand over his mouth and looked down, he couldn’t even _look_ at Andrew. Then he glanced up and at the door. Through the little window he could see movement and his brow furrowed. Andrew followed his line of sight in time for the door to be pushed open without any restraint. “I think that’s enough of that,” Altair said, standing in the door, Ezio and Hawk were standing in the not-a-tent behind him, grim faced and serious.

“Melik?”

“Took you long enough,” Desmond and Andrew said at the same time.

“Hello Andy,” Altair said with the coldest, meanest smile he’d ever seen the ancient make and stepped into the room with them. He then flicked his wrist and his hidden blade shot out, resting between his little and middle finger. He raised his arm and put the tip of his hidden blade against his father’s throat.

“Melik, what are you doing here?” Andrew was _clearly_ confused.

“Melik?” Desmond asked.

“I went by that name in the eighties,” was Altair’s only reply, “I’ve been a lot of people,” his eyes only flicked briefly at Desmond. “Now, Andy,” he continued to look at his father. “I remember the last time I saw you I promised myself that the next  time I saw you, I’d kill you. Greedy, selfish, cheating, lying Andy Miles,” he said it like a rhyme. “You’re name’s been on my blade for about thirty years. Most people don’t like that long when I decide it’s their time,” Andrew swallowed. “Should I kill you in front of your boy though?”

“You’ll regret this. I’m the Mentor,” he said, his head tipped back to avoid Altair’s knife point.

“I killed Marcus. And then Daniel killed Jefferson. Maybe I’ll  actually get that hat trick, three Mentors in a hundred years. Haven’t done that since the thirteen fifties when the Order was about to tear itself apart and there was a new Mentor every two years it seemed.”

“Don’t,” they both looked at Desmond when he spoke. “Don’t kill him.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d rather he know he lost, then to just kill him.”

Altair smiled, “Go, Hawk’s got your things.”

“You won’t kill him?”

“No. I won’t,” Altair promised. Desmond nodded and walked past them. “Nice boy you got there Andy,” Altair was saying as he went and joined Hawk and Ezio, when he looked in the rest of the not-a-tent, he saw Jake standing by the front door at the end of the tube. “But he’s ours now,” and Desmond slipped on his hidden blade even as Ezio was starting to propel him towards the exit. “Next time I see you I will kill you, when he isn’t around to-“ but then they were out of earshot and he missed the rest of it.

Outside the not-a-tent there was a strange silence in the compound. “What did you do?” Desmond asked.

“Drugged dinner,” Hawk said. “They all went to sleep tonight and won’t wake up till tomorrow afternoon, here,” and he handed Desmond his Apple. He nearly fell over.

FIND IT

Ezio caught him when he stumbled. “You okay Desmond?” he asked.

“Yeah I just…” he shook his head.

FIND IT

“Does anyone else hear that?” Desmond asked.

“Hear what?” Hawk asked.

LET ME SHOW YOU

“That voice.”

“Voice?”

“What’s it saying?” Ezio asked.

“Find it. Let me show you.”

LET ME SHOW YOU, it said again and really it was hard to hear anyway. It was quiet, like something speaking softly into his ear.

“Show you?” they were all confused now.

Then the Apple lit up without him doing anything, LET ME SHOW YOU. FOLLOW, and a thin beam of light shot out of the Apple towards the outcrop.

“Please tell me you see this,” Desmond asked.

“The Apple’s active, yeah,” Hawk said.

“No, that,” he pointed where the beam of light was pointing.

“There’s nothing there- hey! Little Bird,” Hawk called after him as he started to follow it, like he was compelled to do so. But not like how the Apple compelled him to do so, more like he just _wanted_ to do it. He was curious and needed to find out where it was going. Needed to know. The others quickly followed him as he walked to the outcrop where the Assassins had been digging. There was a crude tunnel and Desmond went in, following the light. 

The lights inside the tunnel had been turned off. He went into Eagle Vision, because his now good night sight was even better with it. “Oh wow,” he breathed and stopped, spinning in a slow circle. The rock, which was normal under standard vision, was crisscrossed with what was very obviously Ancient geometric patterns, like the ones on his arm, bleeding teal at the edges.

“What are you seeing?” Ezio asked.

“You can’t see it?” he turned to Ezio and Hawk. Their eyes were golden, but didn’t seem to see.

“No. What is it?”

“It’s like the inside of a Temple,” he traced out a pattern only he could see on the wall and then turned away, heading deeper into the tunnel.

It ended in about fifty more feet, abruptly coming to a halt. Here there was a piece of smooth stone. But the Apple wasn’t pointing to it. It was pointing to some normal looking rock where a great array of the designs converged in a multi-armed star. Ezio and Hawk approached the smooth stone even as Desmond stepped to the side, putting the Apple in his pocket. “The Temple?” Ezio asked.

“Has to be,” Hawk said, “Though… it looks strange.”

“Well that’s just great, cause I can’t see jack shit in this place,” Jake suddenly said.

“Don’t touch it,” Hawk warned Ezio as he made to touch the smooth stone, which had obviously been _put_ there.

“The Assassins have been it can’t be that dangerous.”

“Still don’t.”

Meanwhile Desmond wasn’t listening. Slowly, he put his hand on the middle of where the star seemed to form and his head jerked up as the entire scene pulsed and a blip of bright light raced out from the center. “Oh wow. You guys _have_ to tell me you saw that,” and then he turned around to find the others.

They were gone, and so was the bit of smooth stone.

Shit.


	53. The Cuckoo

Desmond turned in a slow circle. Shit shit shit shit. He had _no_ idea what had just happened. Instead of his ancestors and Jake being behind him all there was was a hallway that led to darkness. It was actually nearly pitch black save for a small amount of light coming from under him. He looked down and saw he was standing in a small radius of light emanating from his shoes. He lifted his one foot up and saw a shape, similar to his foot, on the seemingly black surface, that radiated out in geometric patterns. It reminded him a lot of an Eagle Vision trail actually, and just bright enough to see by in the blueish light so that all the dark surfaces looked oily and shiny, such dark blue and green they looked black.

He looked back up, the wall in front of him was still rock, uncut, and just normal stone, with the geometrics cut into it only now were a dull yellow instead of teal and like the other one converged into a large many armed star. Okay well if that got him here it could send him back. Right? Made sense to him. He reached out and pressed his hand to the rock, over the big star. Nothing happened. He did it again. Still nothing. Just to be _really_ sure he tugged off the glove on his left hand and did it again. All that happened was that Desmond’s hand now felt warmer then usual, as the rock was hot, not burning, but warmer then he expected.

“Good job Desmond,” he said to himself and turned away from the uncut stone. He tugged off his other glove and stuffed them both into the pocket of his hoodie, dropping his Eagle Vision as he did. There was enough light to see by from the light coming from under his shoes.

The hallway in front of him was dark and rather foreboding. There was nothing really for it though. He couldn’t go back, that meant he had to go forward. He reached out and touched the wall, it felt like glass under his fingers. Where he touched the wall lit up as well, not as brightly as his shoes, but it offered more light. So he started walking into the dark, leaving a trail of light behind him from his shoes and his fingers.

He walked for about ten minutes before the tunnel ended and he was in a big room. Though he couldn’t see it because it was so large. He hesitated at the edge. He didn’t know what was beyond the hall because the room was too big to see and even a brief glance into the second sight didn’t help at all. After a minute of literally standing there stupidly he decided to just go around the edges.

As soon as he took a step into the room  the house lights turned up and he jerked to a stop, startled, like a rabbit hunted by a hawk. The room was massive, like a football stadium. At the center, with a sequence of long, low, steps rising up only a few feet to it was a huge pillar that was fat at the bottom and tapered up at the top. A soft, rolling blue light ran up it’s entire length (which had to be at least three stories), shooting up quickly from the bottom in a repeated pattern. Two blips followed by a short period of darkness, and then two more blips, over and over and over. The light came from under the low steps and showed the entire room and it was clear, even from where he was, that there were no other doorways. It was this room and the hallway.

Slowly, carefully, and more then a little wary, Desmond approached the pillar. He had every reason to be leery of these places. The last time he’d been in a Temple, a really _proper_ Temple and not Hawk’s  Labyrinth, he’d ended up killing someone and falling into a coma. So yeah, he was uneasy about being here. Though there was no one else here for him to hurt, so that was good.

Up close the pillar was perfectly smooth save where grooves had been cut into it. What was with the Ancients and grooves? Seriously. Hesitantly, he touched it. Other then the pillar lighting up around his fingers where he tapped them against it briefly, nothing happened. Okay so that was something. He walked slowly around the pillar, doing nearly a full circuit before finding what he seemed to be looking for. He supposed at least.

Like someone had taken a melon baller to the glass-like surface there was a perfectly formed, concave, hole in it. It looked about-

He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out his Apple. It was pulsing softly with golden light at the same rate as the tower. He stared at it for several moments before realizing that the pulsations weren’t at any random, repeated interval. They were pulsing to _his heartbeat_. Just thinking it made his heart rate shoot up and he watched as the pulsing in the tower _and_ the Apple increase.

“Okay,” Desmond said slowly to himself. “It’s okay,” he reminded himself and looked towards the entrance, the hallway which was black like the yawning maw of some sort of monstrous snake. There was nothing for him there and he was still alone. He looked back at the Apple and, with more then a little hesitation, put it into the hole. He was reminded of the Vault, and how Hawk opened it. What had they said? Apples were keys? Keys to pretty much everything.

He didn’t have time to think much about it though as he had to press his hands over his ears as suddenly the entire tower glowed first gold, and then blue again and the entire room was filled with a sweet gong-like sound. It echoed across the huge room and it was like Desmond was in a belfry and wow it was _loud_.

Abruptly the tone ended, the tower returning to pulsing to his heart beat and he nearly jumped out of his shoes when a hologram flickered into view to his left. It was unlike any he'd seen so far. It wasn't like the matrons Juno or Minerva, the wizened Jupiter, or the virginal Venus. No, in fact they looked surprisingly like him, his age at least, but with long pale hair in a riot of perfect ringlets around his head under a teardrop shaped headdress. Like Jupiter he wore long robes and like them all he appeared to float above the floor, at least except Venus, who always seemed amazingly grounded for a hologram. His eyes were a frightening pale yellow color that very much glowed as they looked at Desmond. "Oh," Desmond said, "Hi," he said awkwardly.

The man smiled warmly at him, "Hello Desmond," he said pleasantly and _wow_ he sounded weird. Not bad. Just weird, like he was speaking through a tube, much like Minerva, Juno, and Jupiter had actually. Funny. Venus didn’t sound like that.

"I am Pluto."

"Pluto... you know that isn't a planet anymore right?" Desmond asked.

Pluto just continued to smile, "Of course," he said, unoffended and very clearly without any sense of humor. "I've been waiting for you.”

"You have?" he asked.

"Yes, we knew you'd be coming."

"I thought the future wasn't constant?"

Pluto chuckled dryly at that, "Perhaps for you. But there are some events in history that will always happen, no matter the variables. They may take more or less time then you originally think, but they will always happen. You would always end up here, and I would always be here to welcome you. So welcome," and he bowed a little. Well, that was a nice change of pace. He wasn't used to being respected by these damn holograms. Usually they were too busy making his life shitty.

"Uh, thanks," he said awkwardly, looking up at Pluto because he was floating a good six inches off the ground and even though Desmond was tall he wasn’t _that_ tall. "So uh, if you've been waiting for me, I bet you could answer some questions I have, can't you?"

"I can do that, yes, we are in no rush," Pluto agreed in his pleasant and unoffensive voice without really any inflection at all. Very stoic.

"Okay then. Do you know what goes on in your other Temples, or whatever you call them," he waved his hand a little.

"I do."

"Why did Juno kill my friend?" this honestly hadn't been the question he'd expected himself to ask. He'd wanted to ask other ones, like about his arm. But this one came out first.

"Because she thought it was best," Pluto said.

"What sort of bullshit answer is that?" he demanded. "She was important to me, and you killed her!"

"I cannot speak for Juno," Pluto said rather apologetically. "We speak to each other, yes, but we act independently of one another. If she had a reason it was probably a good one. I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you," and he fit his hands into the wide sleeves of his flowing robes.

At least he honestly seemed apologetic. "Okay," he said, bobbing his head a little. "Then tell me. Why me? Why not someone else who was better equipped? I don't even know what you people even want from me. Jupiter said I was supposed to restore the world, save it. I don't even know where to start!"

"You are special," Pluto said.

"Yeah. I know that. The others have been telling me. They all say its in my blood. Okay, but what about it? How is what's in me so much better then anyone else?" he frowned at Pluto who just nodded in a sage-like manner even though he looked maybe thirty or so.

"Before our time was over," Pluto said, "we saw what would become of this world and we made steps to ensure its safety after the Cataclysm. One of these steps was to ensure that there would be those to preserve our legacy. People like you, and your ancestors, and also many other people all over the world. We did this by crossing our species with yours. In doing this we gave your species some of our abilities. A heightened sense, and the ability to use the tools we left behind with greater efficiency.”

"Apples, the Sword, Shroud-"

"Among others," Pluto said with a nod. "People like you would find each other, as you people are always looking for those like themselves, so if one person was special, they'd try to find another that would understand or be special as well. Over the millennia the specialness has been mostly forgotten, they forget the gift we gave them."

"This still doesn't explain why I'm so special," Desmond said with a frown.

Pluto smiled, as though he found Desmond amusing, "Our greatest leaders and minds offered up their genes to your people, to give you abilities that would last through generations. They each had lines, many of which are still alive today, and some that have died out. Sometimes they crossed, or sometimes the same lines fused together. There were sixteen of us who gave ourselves to better you, sixteen lines," he pulled his hands from his sleeves and offered them, palms up, to Desmond, "that all converge in you."

Desmond blinked at him slowly, processing what he'd just said. "So... wow... okay... give me a second, this is a bit much to take in all at once," he said.

"Of course," Pluto said and slipped his hands back into his sleeves.

Desmond took a moment to figure out what Pluto had just said. He was a descendant of Those Who Came Before. But he knew that already. The Eagle Vision was proof of that. But now he was being told he wasn't just some normal one, like Altair, Ezio, and Hawk, and probably a good deal more of his ancestors as well, but he was a descendant of _all_ of them. All the Ancients who had, basically, sired children with humans, had come together at one point, and one time. That was him. He was that guy.

That explained a surprising amount actually when he thought about it. He was sort of like them. It was why he could touch a fully charged Cube, and why scrying came so easy, why Apples responded to even a subtle thought, why _he_ could see the light on the walls, and the others couldn’t, even though they had the Eagle Vision too. Why his night vision was just… good? He guessed. Maybe. Really, it made sense. It was sort of insane and amazing, but it made sense.

He took a deep, slightly amazed breath, "Okay," he said. "Next question. I had a brother-

"It would always be you," Pluto said patiently. "We know about Duncan, he would have failed. He always, would have failed."

"Okay... ouch by the way," and Pluto almost seemed amused, if, you know, ancient, holographic stoics could look amused. Pluto being one of those by a large margin. "And do you know about the others?"

Pluto looked confused here, "What others?" he asked slowly.

For some reason Desmond held back, something jumping at him from the back of his mind. Be wary. Well _duh_ be wary. It was an Ancient and they were all for screwing up Desmond’s life, even if Pluto seemed pretty decent, "My friends," he said. "What about them?"

"We are not overly concerned with your companions," Pluto said. "Our interest is in you."

“O-kay,” he said slowly. That was weird. “What about this?” he held up his left arm, of course his hand wasn’t showing any of the geometry.

“What about?” Pluto asked curiously. 

“Sorry, just-“ he rolled up his sleeve to his elbow, nothing. “It’s something I swear to god,” and then he pulled the hoodie off, over his head so he was standing in just his shirt. There, creeping out from under his shirt sleeve, was the geometry. “This, what’s this?” he pointed at it.

Pluto actually moved closer, seeming curious. “One moment,” he said, staring at it and Desmond looked at the pillar. The pulses were going pretty fast and he realized his heart was pumping pretty fast too. He was nervous. “I just ran a diagnostics on you,” and Pluto leaned away. “There is nothing wrong with you. It is perhaps and effect of the trauma you suffered under inferior memory rewriting,” he didn’t seem pleased by this.

“Okay… so you _really_ have no idea what it is?”

“No, I do not,” Pluto was actually confused by this. Desmond got the feeling that a guy like Pluto wasn’t used to being confused about things. “It appears to be simply cosmetic.”

“Okay, well, that’s good. Right?”

“It would see so,” Pluto nodded.

“Right, well, I don't... really have any more questions. Well, I mean I guess I did, but I'm still sort of trying to wrap my head around the whole... I'm descendant from all these ancients, it’s a lot to take in," he admitted.

"I understand," Pluto said, "it is a lot to accept."

"So, uh, what now? You said I'm something like... a prophesied hero... or something," he waved his hand a little.

"Indeed," Pluto said, "You are more like us then any human has ever been."

"All right. So, what am I supposed to do? Save the world, right?"

"And restore the planet to its original condition. Erase wars and end corruption and stop your kind from marching towards their own destruction. If you choose to do so."

He took a deep breath, "Big job."

"And very important."

"So this is a... totally hypothetical question. But say that my brother _was_ here in my place. Any idea what he'd do?"

"We saw this as well. He was not strong enough to do what needed to be done. He left and let the world fall to ruin. Within a few decades at the least, few centuries at most, you people will have a drought of fresh water. The Water Wars will begin and entire parts of the world will cease to exist."

"Then... why would he leave? He wouldn't just have let that happen," Desmond insisted. It didn’t sound like Duncan _at all_. He was a bleeding heart and didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

"You are not your brother, your brother is not you. He would have not done it. He prescribed to your organization's teachings, everyone has a choice. He believed people were better then what we said and he would have taken the risk of the world ripping itself apart over water, for there was a slim chance that it wouldn't. He would have bet on that slim chance."

That sounded like Duncan actually. What he remembered anyway, always hoping for the best. He was a dreamer. Desmond was, and always had been, firmly rooted in reality. "Well, I'm not my brother."

"We were counting on that," Pluto said pleasantly.

"I'm not really an optimist. In my life if there's a chance shit will go wrong, it will, and it'll do so sooner, rather then later."

"A wise stance," Pluto said. “So, what are you going to do?"

"Well, I don't want the world to kill itself. So tell me what I have to do," he stood up a little straighter.

“It starts here,” Pluto said and motioned to the pillar, the pulsations were still increasing in speed and Desmond tried to get his heart rate to slow down, at least be normal. He was supposed to do this. This was his destiny. Right? He was prophesied, nothing could go wrong. It shouldn’t. All he wanted to do was fix everything. Desmond moved closer to the pillar, and while still perfectly smooth he saw a design had appeared on it lit in glue like some high tech tablet. The design was the outline of a handprint. Desmond's knew it was _his_ handprint just like it was _his_ heartbeat the tower and Apple were pulsing to the beat of. 

"So what? I just put my hand on it?”

"Yes. That will start the process, once it is done, we'll take care of the rest," he smiled nicely at him.

"What happens after?"

"So much," Pluto said, "There is so much to do. But we can't do any of it until _you_ start it."

"But no pressure," Desmond said in a dry sarcasm. Pluto didn't respond, he was as stoic as always. "Okay, no better time then the presence," and then he pressed his hand to the outline. Immediately light flared from the design and the house lights shut off. “Ow!” he yelped, more in surprise then in pain when something pricked him and he tried to jerk back. He couldn’t however as he seemed stuck there and then the prick became a cut along the pad of his finger and blood started to ooze around the shape of the print, filling in the light until his blood ran through the entire design, glowing purple from the blue light pushing through the red. Not only was the handprint glowing but his hand and arm suddenly erupted into geometry, glowing bright blue to the point it was almost white. Then he could yank his hand away and the entire pillar lit up with lights, brighter then the house lights and shimmering in lines and complex, amazing geometric shapes and he forgot his arm even as the geometry faded back under his skin. "I'm assuming its supposed to do that?" Desmond said.

"Yes, thank you Desmond," Pluto said.

Then, the world started to _glow gold_ , "This... feels familiar," he said slowly. "Pluto, what's going on?" he asked.

"The beginning of many great things," he said and Desmond started to hear things move. A great machine under the temple sighed mightily and it sounded like a hydraulic pressure being released expansively. It was soft though, well oiled, well maintained.

"You going to tell me?" Desmond asked and swallowed, eyeing the golden light with steep suspicion as it was the same color Apples gave off, even taking a step back, blood dripped off the end of his finger.

"We're waking up," and he smiled his pleasant smile at Desmond.

"Wait... waking up?"

"Of course," he said. "This was one of our last strong holds after the Cataclysm. Here we locked ourselves away, waiting."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"For you, of course."

"And... what are you going to do?"

"Return the world to the way it was. You humans have gotten far out of line. You have squandered this world we left behind. The ozone is thin, the sea levels rise, the seasons are more intense each year, you people fight and kill each other over nothing of actual import. Our greatest minds always hoped you'd outgrow your more violent tendencies. Sadly, they were wrong,” he seemed saddened by this.

"So what, you've been waiting for me to... to let you have a second chance at this world?" he demanded.

"No. This was an experiment, to see if it would go right. The last of us looked to the future, when the rest were asleep. They saw what would become of you, they knew. But they could not wake us. Only who had all lines converging could awaken us. We are fixing a mistake we made a long time ago."

"You're going to enslave the world, just like you did before," Desmond said, pale and now amazingly terrified. Pluto's smile did not change.

"We will make this world peaceful again," he said.

Desmond took another step away from the pillar and the hologram. The machinery moved under and around him, but it wasn't very loud, just soft sighing of large objects moving and shifting in their spaces. "You tricked me," he said softly, taking another step back.

"No, I did not."

"You said I was some sort of savior, this isn't that," he said and felt it all now pressing firmly on him. He _was_ a failure. He’d let this happen. He’d walked _right into it_.

"I did not lie. You are. You are _our_ savior. Without you, we would never be given this opportunity."

"That's why Duncan wouldn't do it. Isn't it?" he spat.

"Too curious for his own good. Unlike his brother, who follows directions," Pluto's smile never faltered from warmly pleasant. "That was always a trait we tried to breed more into you people. But we were never able to. Your species is violent, disobedient, and doesn't know what's best for it."

"No. You're wrong," Desmond said, "We've come a long way."

"Yes of course," and big holographic screens appeared in thin air. They showed the World Wars, Vietnam, Sierra Leona, Molenbeek, Russia, China, most of Africa and the Middle East, the Serbian civil war, the bombing of Japan and the war in the Pacific Islands and showing nothing but carnage. Gunfire rattled from the screens and he could hear and see people yelling. The images bombarded him, Pluto was making his point very clear. "Such advanced creatures," he said dryly and if Desmond didn't know better he'd say that was Pluto being sarcastic. The screens winked out of sight. "Now, where do you think you're going?" as Desmond had been slowly backing up. Suddenly he couldn't move and was frozen, misstep, heading backwards.

"Let me go," Desmond swallowed, he knew this feeling. This feeling of helplessness of being controlled by something that had him _at their mercy_.

"I don't think so," Pluto said calmly. "We still have use of you."

"No. I refuse."

Pluto's smile was now nearly a smirk he pulled his hands from his sleeves and wagged a finger at him, "You act as though you have a choice. We have much in store for you." 

Great, _another_ order that wanted something from him. Another choice he didn’t have. It always came back to that didn’t it? Free will. If people should have it or not. Desmond seemed to constantly be on the ‘not having it’ end of the scale, even though that was all he wanted. "I ain't buying what you're selling Pluto," Desmond growled and wanted something _more_ then this stupid AI wanted him to stay there. He took a very firm and pointed step back. "Got it?"

Pluto actually looked sort of confused. "Stay," he ordered, but Desmond just started to walk backwards even as his body glowed with controlling light. Pluto had will, but he wasn't real. Altair held him tighter then this, Altair had will, the will to keep living, mostly alone, for nearly a millennia. The will to wake up every time he went to sleep, the will to stay sane and not go on spontaneous, murderous, rampages, as Desmond was more then sure he'd thought about at least once. It was Altair after all, and he was blood thirsty and enjoyed fighting almost more then anything. He knew because he'd been in his head and Ezio's head. They loved to fight. They loved to kill. They thrived in war and blood and carnage. They all did.

Even him.

Though he hated to admit it

But Pluto had nothing on Altair and he wanted Lucy to be alive still a lot more then Pluto wanted to keep him still. He didn't want anything more then that, and few people wanted something more then he wanted that. Pluto frowned as clearly Desmond was not staying still like he expected him to.

“That’s enough Desmond,” Pluto said and Desmond’s back hit a wall, one that had pushed up from the gap between the stairs. “You want something. That’s understandable. We know what you want. We can give it to you," and the wall sank and he stared at what was behind it.

"This... is a trick," he said and he felt sort of sick. No. Not sort of sick. He was sick.

"No trick," Pluto said. "We, would be happy to give you what you want. We owe everything to you after all."

Desmond swallowed. There she was, just as she'd been.

Lucy. 

Unlike Pluto she didn't look like a hologram. She looked real, and solid, and like be could just reach out and _touch_ her. He didn't have any pictures of her, all he'd had was his own memory, and his memory didn't do her justice. _Venus_ didn't even do her justice. He'd seemingly forgotten the exact shade of her hair. Her eyes were closed and she was wearing a white dress with long sleeves and ended at her knees, but he wasn't looking anywhere but her face. He'd forgotten she'd had freckles. She was even more beautiful then he remembered.

"She's not real," he said thickly. "She's dead."

Pluto scoffed. "Death means little to us. We are not immortal, but we have conquered our fear of death," well that was something his ancestors had the Ancients beat with at least. "We can make this a reality. If this is what you want."

Cautiously, terrified of what would happen, he reached out and touched her. And yes, _touched her._ He nearly jumped out of his shoes when her eyes suddenly flashed open. They were the clear, intelligent, blue he remembered. "Hello Desmond," she smiled and fuck he forgot about that dimple she had. This was just cruel and unusual punishment. He didn’t deserve this. Wether as a punishment or reward, he didn’t deserve this.

His stomach dropped out from under him and he squeezed his eyes closed. "You aren't real," he reminded himself. "You're dead," he said it firmly, as though he had to convince himself.

"I am," she agreed. "I think its sweet that of anything you could want in the world its me," and be opened his eyes again.

"Of course I do," he said, barely able to get the words out.

"I'd like to be back," and she picked his hand up. Her hand was realistically warm, but he didn't feel himself moving his own hand. This wasn't real. None of this was real.

"You're dead," he said and swallowed thickly. "It's better if you... stay like that."

She frowned, "You don't mean that," she said, "This is what you want."

"No," be said firmly, "I don't."

"You shouldn't lie to yourself Desmond," Pluto said. "Or to us," he stood behind Lucy who seemed undisturbed. He yanked his hand from her warm grip. "Juno took her from you on what was clearly an error of her judgement. We will give her back," he rested his long fingered hands on her white clad shoulders.

"How?"

"You let us worry about that," Pluto said pleasantly. "Let us make you happy."

Happy. Desmond's forgot what happy was like it seemed like. He couldn't remember being happy. Being _really_ and _truly_ happy. It had been a long time it felt like. He'd been happy with his brother. Visiting his grave even had given him measures of happiness.

Then he remembered. Ezio nearly fainting in panic when Desmond had almost broken his leg at the start of all of this. Rapidly calling Hawk, asking what he should do because Desmond had fallen and wasn't getting up again. Strangely, thinking about it, he'd been happy then, since it was one of the first times someone had cared so much for him that they had that level of a freak out. He remembered Hawk very slowly edging Altair into nearly snapping, back in New York, and everyone laughing at the oldest of them when he did and then the realization that Hawk was just having a go at him, to Desmond's nudging to wanting to see how one properly teased the great Altair ibn-La’Ahad. That had been fun, it had been the first time he'd really laughed in a good while. And of course Altair. He was just always present, even when he'd thought Altair was dead he was present. Knowing that the ancient man was watching out for him made him feel safe, and when he was safe, he could allow himself to be happy. Even Jake had, in his own way. A friend he hadn't expected, and even when he was pissed at the New Yorker he was protective of him, which he only was of people he liked. It also didn't hurt that Jake had been a marginally good lay and stress relief. 

The others made him happy.

"No," he shook his head and took a step back away from Pluto and that _thing_ that was now something from a bad dream, because only in his bad dreams was Lucy alive. The good ones she was dead in because then he could wake up and the world would be the same. The ones where she was alive and smiled at him, or adjusted her hair in the way she did when she was nervous, toying with the bun. Or  like how he remembered the mornings, up before everyone, staring into a cup of tea, not quite put together for the day, hair down and long around her shoulders and when she noticed him give him a smile and say 'Good morning Desmond. Sleep well?' even though she knew he hadn't were the worst. Because then he'd wake up and lay in bed for a while and have to remind himself she was dead and make himself get out of bed before one of the others came looking for him. "No," he said again. "I don't want this."

"You do-

"SHUT UP!" He roared. Pluto, surprisingly, closed his mouth, and seemed surprised he was doing so actually. " _Do not taunt me with her,"_ he growled. "She deserves better then to be used as some freakish bargaining chip by _you people_ ,” and now he was just angry, Everything about him was angry, angry like he hadn’t even been angry at his father. This was an anger that made his entire being shake, even his voice.

"If it was a taunt Desmond, trust me, we wouldn't use her. We’d use your brother, would you like to see him?"

"No!" God no. He'd be so let down, so disappointed in what Desmond had done. He'd never forgive his baby brother for seemingly becoming what they'd both always tried so hard not to be; someone who obeyed.

"There now, we are not so cruel," Pluto said.

"Desmond," the Lucy shaped thing said.

"Please don't," be said so softly he barely heard it himself, wanting to hear her voice at the same time that he never wanted to hear it ever again, because it hurt too much.

"I'd like to be with you again." He just took another step back. She seemed to slip between Pluto's fingers and walk towards him. "Don't kill me a second time," and she threaded her fingers through his hand when she came up to him.

"I'm so sorry," he said thickly.

"I don't blame you. _They_ did this," and she looked back at Pluto briefly who was standing with his hands in his sleeves again, watching them as though one would watch two dogs interact, a look of limited interest with the knowledge of knowing how dogs acted around one another and wouldn't be surprised by anything he saw that day. He squeezed her hand and it _felt_ real. It felt amazingly real and soft and warm and a part of him wanted it to be real.

"I miss you," he said softly, looking away from Pluto, only at her, before looking down where he held her hand. There was blood on the floor and even though he was touching her the cut on his fingers hadn’t bloodied her own.

"Then don't do this. Please. For me at least. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted..." and then she gave a soft, sad, laugh, like a sigh. "I wanted a lot of things. I tried to be too many things, I started to become awful at all of them when you came to Abstergo. I shouldn't have cared, I did. Maybe I should be sorry for that, or neither of us would be in this mess," and her smile was amazingly brittle. "I'm glad you're safe now though," and her fake hand touched his real cheek and it _felt_ real. "There's no need to cry Desmond," he said, now smiling kindly. He was crying. Tears leaking from his eyes because _this_ was too much. Too overwhelming and _too her._  

"I thought you were done the crying over past ghosts," she brought up how he'd been in Monteriggioni. He'd seen, because of their emails, that he was screaming in his sleep, though he didn't remember it, he had slept deeply then, not like now where anything out of the ordinary woke him. But sometimes the misery that was Ezio's life was just _crushing_. He saw everything that man did, and for hours at a time he _was_ Ezio. He was all of Ezio's thoughts and memories and feelings and trials. Sometimes they didn't end when he woke up. Shaun had made fun of him once about sitting for breakfast and having a moment where the Bleed pushed a bit too much against his mind and he couldn't hold it back and he cried for all the times Ezio refused to do so. Lucy and Rebecca had snapped at Shaun in equal measure for it, he was having serious psychological trauma, and Shaun was _mocking_ him for it. Becca had been especially furious with him and for three days after when he was awake he'd seen Shaun kissing her ass as much as he could. Lucy had been too worried of his mental state to give Shaun the cold shoulder like Rebecca had.

"You seem pretty present right now," he said thickly, barely able to get the words out and they cracked a bit anyway.

She gently stroked his face with a bit of a smile, "I can be more then a ghost you know," she said.

"The offer still stands Desmond," Pluto said calmly, suddenly reminding Desmond he was there. "Don't fight us. We can give you what you desire more then anything. Nothing is beyond our reach."

Desmond didn't answer him, he was still looking at her. She felt real. She could _be_ real, couldn't she. "And if I say no?" he asked and now held one side of her face as well with his right hand. The blood on the tip of his finger didn’t even effect her skin.

"You won't," Pluto said confidently with an annoying smile on his face that made Desmond want to spite him. He wasn’t a good little soldier and didn’t bend to the will of others. Right? He wanted to be that. He didn’t want to be that person who always did what others said.

He looked away from Pluto and stared at her, "I'm sorry," he said again and pressed his lips briefly to hers. They felt warm and real and up that close he could smell her, her particular smell that was the only one he really knew. Water with metals in it from the Monteriggioni well and one of her few feminine touches, soap that smelled like lilies. This was all from his mind, as she'd been from back then. It was supposed to only last a second, a something he couldn’t have, but wanted to taste once before giving it up, but he didn’t want to let her go once he had her. Her surprise was genuine though and so was her response to kiss him back.

Then suddenly she was gone and he almost fell forward onto his face. Pluto was standing there looking irritated at him. "I've allowed this game long enough," he said. "I've been ordered to restrain you, even if I must do so by force," and he was made to glow gold. "You people always were fools. Now kneel."

"No," he said defiantly.

"You. Have. Nothing," Pluto said in amusement. "Your greatest weapon against our control was her. Giving in to us is what you want, because you want her."

"Did Juno see this?"

"She may have. If so I commend her for her actions,” and Desmond grit his teeth. "Now," he clapped his hands once, and they made a ringing sound, " _Kneel_ " and Desmond felt himself crumbling in slow motion, slowly falling to his knees. He tried to move, he couldn't. He did what he did before, but it didn't work. Pluto now wanted him on his knees more then he wanted anything. He sighed at Desmond like he was a misbehaving child. "I'll overlook this insubordination because I like you," Pluto said. "My controller won't have to know about this because I think you should have something good to counter the guilt you're sure to have for giving up your entire race. At least at first," he said and Desmond didn't like the sound of that _at all._

"This isn't over Pluto. There are others. They'll come looking for me."

"And we'll kill them."

"And they'll just _keep coming._ These lesser beings you treat us like seemingly have one thing you don't. They. Won't. Die."

That surprised Pluto, because he didn’t say anything for several moments. "We'll have to test that assessment then," and Desmond was forced to his hands and knees and he knew Pluto was doing this only for his own amusement now. If a fucking hologram could even _be_ amused. 

"You're going to regret this," Desmond said through clenched teeth, because he couldn't move his mouth or jaw. "Doing this, using the woman I love as the carrot and the stick. Using _me_."

"And what is someone so weak going to do to _us_?" Pluto was openly amused now.

He forced himself to look up, now he wanted something more. " _I'm going to kill all of you,_ " he growled and he watched Pluto's face change, his smile dropped, and for a brief moment he appeared worried, then it was gone, replaced by his stoic face again.

“It’s time to go to sleep Desmond," he said and he felt something prick the skin in his hands. He jerked his hand away from the floor and saw he'd been stuck by a needle of some sort, he was bleeding again from it, like he was from the cut on his finger. That was all he was able to determine before his body hit the dark floor with a dull thud as he blacked out.

-fin-


	54. Epilogue: Fury of the Foul-Gull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I didn’t write most of this. That would belong to Hija, a lovely anon on ff.net who reviews a lot. I really liked what they did so I’m… stealing their epilogue, and making it fit the story properly. You can read their original version (as well as other events that take place in a parallel AU of this one) in the reviews on ff.net which is pretty much just like this, only slightly different, and of course this is the canon version. I wasn’t originally going to write an epilogue, but this was just really good and after reading it about two dozen times decided this needed to be added.
> 
> So again, I did not write most of this. I just made it canon.

Ezio turns to find Desmond, the words 'don't touch anything' on his lips, mimicking Hawk, because if Hawk says don't touch anything, it means _don't touch anything._ But Desmond can't hear, he's gone. All there is is the rock where he was standing and him, Hawk, and Jake standing there dumbly in the near pitch darkness that only gives way slightly even to his second sight.

The entire world falls away and he wonders whether to go berserk now, or to wait for Altair to turn up. After all, when that happens...

Then that is irrelevant because Altair is there. Ezio only hears a faint whisper of sound. He feels Altair's arrival somewhere, instinctive, ingrained. He does not turn his head, still looking at the spot where Desmond had been, the rock that he had touched last.

Altair's eyes flicker from face to face, and finally rest on Ezio's. Ezio distantly wonders exactly what he looks like, to be deserving of that much contemplation. He thinks he knows. If he looks like he feels, he looks like he is one step away from unleashing hell on anything that separates _their_ little bird from them.

He is still not looking at Altair. But he can feel the gathering chill, that would normally have him scrambling to defuse a situation, to save innocents from the blood that follows Altair on a war path. But this time he just suppresses a shiver of delight, and  _revels_ in the blood lust.

Maybe they do not know exactly what happened the last time Desmond was in one of these  _thrice-be-damne_ d temples, but the know it broke the kid. And all their protective instincts for the littlest of them (though Jake was too, but he _was_ immortal) had already been stirred up when he  _disappeared_ off their radars without warning, without indication just-

Ezio forcibly calms himself. Finally he takes his glare off of the stone that took Desmond away, and looks back at Altair, their leader. It is he who will indicate the general direction for Ezio to unleash his wrath.

Altair is talking quietly with Hawk. Then they are settling in half crouches, ready and able to react in seconds, but also to hold the position for hours, even days on end. A glance from Altair, and Ezio does the same. The others know better than to talk to him when he is like this, furious, raging, ready to kill.

Maybe he's over reacting. But he knows he is not stirring until either Desmond comes back, their Apples tell them he is somewhere else, or they get an indication that he is dead.

Or he gets the all clear from Altair to try and break in. With brute force and explosives, if nothing else.

Time passes, and he sees Hawk leave to go fetch Jake. He thinks to stop him, (They are  _children_. Like their own children.) but then remembers that Jake is immortal. He feels a crushing wave of sadness engulf him, another person they have denied his death, but then pushes past it. Desmond can still die, but _not on their watch_.

A day passes.

Jake is there now. Ezio gets the general sense of Assassins being kept from entering the tunnel. Ezio has barely moved. The rest are setting up sentry duty. Jake wakes him from his thoughts, as he crouches in front of him with an, "Are you alright?"

With anyone else, they would have already been dead. Anyone else included Altair and Hawk. Ezio was in an Assassin's cold mentality, deeply sunk. But Jake was one of  _theirs_. So he refrains from killing him. Hawk is watching warily, ready to intervene, should it get too bad. Altair doesn't care. Jake's first death will happen soon, probably.

But not at Ezio's hands.

Ezio stands, stretches for a long time then tries to smile at Jake. From the look on the boy's face, it is more deadly, more bloodthirsty than he was trying for.

Altair walks into the tunnel very very calmly. Ezio recognizes that prowl. It is Altair's version of Ezio's trance. A way to contain anger, to control it, to form a sharpened blade from it...

Altair prowls, Ezio freezes, and Hawk doesn't feel it.

Altair's blades are reddened. Ezio briefly wonders who it was that died than decides its irrelevant. He doesn't feel like caring.

Hawk is poking at the innocent looking rock that took Desmond away from them, (And yes, Ezio can think that without killing something or freezing, _he can_.) with his Apple.

Altair brings over some... things to Ezio. They consist of a fuse, several pounds of explosives, a bottle of diamond polishing acid and other such bang-inducing items.

"Here." he says. Ezio is glad to see that their minds can still function on the same wavelength on occasion, it's just better that way, when they can act and react without having to do so verbally; he's a bit beyond actually speaking right now. Jake has already left, relieving Altair at the tunnel entrance.

Ezio tinkers, trying to get the proper combination that will burn through the rock without blowing them up as well. He has always had a fascination with bombs, ever since Yousaf taught him how to make them, ever so long ago. He kept up with that technology through the ages just as a reminder of his dear friend.

By the time he finally gets it, his already fragile sense of time is shattered. He has no idea whether it is night or day, and he really doesn't care. It's irrelevant, time is meaningless. All it is is a number, a passing of seconds. Ezio has a countless number of seconds, he does not concern himself with things like time. Not now.

The bomb is meant to break through the rock shell to whatever Ancient Tech lies underneath to have their Hawk at 'em. He has complete confidence that Hawk can beat whatever is underneath. If not today then tomorrow. If not this month then the next. If not this year then the next. If not this century then...

But Desmond doesn't have the centuries they are willing to give to projects. They have a time limit on this one.

The bomb works, just as he wanted it. The rock is blown sky high, or would have been if there had not been the roof of a tunnel above.

There is nothing beneath. Just nothing. More rock. More gravel and stone. The hole he's blown was twenty feet deep. But there is nothing. Wherever Desmond was taken it was far from here, further then they can blast to, further then they can drill to. He unleashes his rage on the hapless stone around him. Altair's is a cold fury, Hawk's is calculated, Ezio's burns with the fury of fifty thousand suns and makes bombs look like bottle rockets.

Eventually, he calms. He has to. He must. So he does. None of them touch him as they leave the tunnel.

Ezio knows they will rescue Desmond, even if it takes a thousand lives. Even if it takes a thousand deaths.

He just hopes Desmond will be alive to be rescued.


End file.
